Maybe Baby
by i'mnotcrazy82
Summary: Mildly AU story set after Who's Your Daddy.  What if Cuddy had asked House to be her sperm donor?  Rating changed to M.  HUDDY
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N -_**

**_I've been very uninspired lately. I wrote this to get the creative juices flowing, so I can finish up what I've already started. It's helped in the past, so I'm trying it again._**

**_This is AU, after Who's Your Daddy. It's a What If story. What If Cuddy asked House to be her donor._**

**_Anyway, I hope you like it._**

**_House and Cuddy aren't mine, 'cause if they were, they'd have gotten together a LONG time ago. DS owns them, may he have mercy on our Huddy souls this season...  
_**

_**Maybe, Baby**_

_**Chapter One**_

_**~ Wants and Needs ~**_

Lisa Cuddy drummed her fingers nervously on her desktop, biting her lower lip. She had plenty of things to do before she left for the day, but this was gnawing at her. It would better to get it done and over with now, before she lost her nerve. She took a deep breath, feeling her stomach knot so painfully that it was almost like a cramp. It's now or never, she told herself, trying not to chicken out. She stood up, and she squared her shoulders, leaving her office.

She made her way through the hospital and to his office. Her stomach was knotting with apprehension so tightly, she thought she had swallowed a lead weight for lunch rather than the salad she had picked at. She stepped into the elevator, her spine stiff and her head held high. She nodded at the few doctors that rode up with her, and the one med student who looked scared shitless. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile that felt brittle even to her. She didn't want to scare the crap out of her med students, but somehow she had become known as the dragon doctor.

It wasn't her fault she had to be ruthless. Unfortunately, in her job it was eat first or be eaten immediately. As small as PPTH was in the world of medicine, it was still a King Kong sized gorilla on her shoulders that made a personal life damn near impossible.

Her world revolved around work. She could feel the tension turn her shoulders into iron. She was nearing forty, and while, professionally she was at the top of her game, personally, she was swimming at the bottom of the heap. She could count her friends on one hand. Oh, sure, she had a plethora of acquaintances, thanks to her job, but no one she could really confide in.

Except for two men. And one she trusted a hell of a lot more than the other.

She shouldn't trust him, she thought as the elevator dinged her floor. Most of the passengers had cleared out on the previous floors, but she still stepped out with two or three of them. She headed towards diagnostics, while they kept going on. From the looks she saw pass between them, they figured one certain pain-in-the-ass was going to get his.

Well, in a way, he was. Or at least, she was going to offer.

She chewed on her cheek nervously as approached those glass walls. It had been two weeks since she had given him those files. Since they had started her twice a day regiment of shots for the in vitro. Since she had dove head first into her plan.

Doubt gnawed at her. Was she really doing the right thing? She really didn't have anyone to confide in, and if she told her other best friend, the entire hospital would have known by then, and she couldn't afford to have that happen. She wasn't sure it could happen, and she couldn't bear the humiliation of everyone knowing she could be a failure as a woman.

No, she could only tell one person, and that was only because the man was so damn snoopy. He had sniffed out her plan, so overly suspicious of her actions. And only because of that one dinner with his best friend. She could still fume at the thought that after reassurances that he wouldn't tell, the man had let her secret slip.

Did everyone she worked with have trust issues?

She came to his office. The blinds were open. That was the one condition of having his own department and office, that he had to have glass walls. The Administration didn't trust him behind closed doors. Not that she could blame the Board of Directors. She had been the one that suggested it. She'd never forget the look of disappointment on his face when he found out that his best buddy was getting an office with four walls that weren't transparent. She informed him that if he wasn't such a sneaky little shit, then he could have been trusted with those walls.

He pouted, she'd smirked. Story of their lives. They were always doing one or the other, depending on who had gotten the upper hand.

Now, she was going to drop a bomb on him that may destroy any respect he had for her.

He was sitting at his desk, so she couldn't hesitate. She couldn't take a step back, or run away. She pulled open the door. She walked across the soft gray carpeting, the familiar click of her heels muffled by the plush material. He tore his eyes away from the scan he was looking at to glance at her. His reading glasses rode low on his craggy nose, and he blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. "If this is about the MRI," he began, irritated.

She stopped dead a few feet away from the desk, and she eyed him suspiciously. "What about...the MRI," she asked, slowly. She hadn't heard anything from radiology, and this bit of information nearly sidetracked her.

"Nothing," he answered quickly. Too quickly. He put the scan down, then leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. "So," he drawled out, lifting a grizzled eyebrow, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked with a slight leer. "Putting your funbags out on display? For me?"

She met his gaze, though she was sure hers was hard. "First," she growled, "what did you do to the MRI." He opened his mouth to formulate an excuse, but she cut him off. "Never mind. I'll find about it when Radiology tells me. Then, we'll discuss how the repairs are going to come out of your department's budget."

He gave her a smug grin. "What repairs?" he asked, innocently, then he settled back, folding his hands across his belly. "Then this about you coming to ask me to be your baby's daddy."

The statement was a slap, and, unfortunately, true. She felt her irritation rise. "How did you know?" she asked, startled.

He shrugged. "I've been giving you those damn shots for two weeks now, and you haven't made a choice from those profiles you asked me to narrow down; they're still sitting in the third drawer on the right side of your desk, next to the yogurt covered pretzels you so covet when you're getting ready to start your period." She closed her mouth tightly, wondering if she should be insulted or embarrassed. She settled on both as he continued blithely on. "Also, you've not given me anymore profiles to look at, so, you've made your choice, and it doesn't involve any of the popsicles."

She ignored her burning cheeks. Of course he would figure it out. "So.." She felt her throat go dry and the lead weight in her belly grow heavier as she waited for his answer.

He sat up, and he gave her a long, thoughtful look. His glasses balanced on the end of his nose, and he looked at her over the top of the thin frames. Seconds passed, but she swore they were hours. He finally sighed, and he took his glasses off, just to break eye contact with her. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I've never wanted to be a dad, Cuddy," he told her frankly. "I'll make a suck-ass father, and I want nothing more than to be taken out of the gene pool." He rubbed his forehead with his hand.

"So, you _won't_ do it?" She couldn't conceal the disappointment in her voice, though she had wanted to. She hated showing weakness in front of him; it always wound up biting her in the ass.

"Didn't say that," he muttered, rubbing his thigh. "This isn't a good idea, Cuddy. You're not ready to be a mom. You can barely handle your job, let alone a kid."

"Thanks for your stunning insight," she informed him, the sarcasm thick. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she turned on her three-inch heel, ready to leave. Humiliation burned in her belly where the lead weight had rested. She had been on a fool's errand, and she had been blinded by her own confidence.

"You know I'm right!" he called after her, causing her to pause as she reached for the door handle. Though her mind was screaming at her body not to turn around and look at him, her muscles betrayed her, and she looked over her right shoulder, cringing at his smug, self-satisfied face.

"If you were ready for this, you would have spent more time looking for a man to do this the fun way. Do you think a ticking biological clock and a turkey baster really makes you mom material? What are you going to do when I do something stupid and you have to spend all night at the hospital. Or if there's a major accident, and you're called in during the middle of the night?" He fixed those arctic blue eyes on hers.

She felt her lip quiver. These were all scenarios she had rationalized to herself, but when they came bluntly out of his mouth, she couldn't come up with a good argument against them. "I want to be a mom," she said, softly, lowering her eyes briefly. Then, she jerked them back up to meet his. "I don't need your permission to be one." There was iron in her voice as she spoke, and the steel returned to her spine. She held her head high. "I just wanted your sperm. Good thing there are other fish in the sea." She walked out, her stride proud.

It wasn't until she was halfway down the stairwell that she allowed herself to slump against the wall. She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. The sour bastard's words stung, but she wouldn't cry over them. It was a bitter blow, but one she could recover. "_Someone you like_," she snorted, angrily. "Yeah, right."

She stood up, brushing the dirt off her gray skirt, straightening it a little. She continued down the stairs, ready to finish her day. A small groan escaped her lips, and she remembered what he had to say about the MRI. She wrinkled her nose up into a small scowl, and she moved that up to the front of the list to deal with.

[H] [H] [H]

She wrinkled her nose up at the blue file in her lap, and she sipped her tea. It was late, but she was used to late nights. She had always had a high metabolism, and she only needed four to six hours of sleep a night. She bumped it up to six to eight hours on the weekend, when she was "off." "Off," though, was a relative term. There was always something to be done.

Like pick a sperm donor.

She picked up the file, and she tossed on the pile she had come to know as the "reject" pile. It was much larger than the other two. The "strongly possible" pile only had one folder in it, and she was considering putting it into the "maybe" pile. She glanced at the coffee table. There were only two more files to look through. She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her lower back. She'd look through those, and then, she'd go to bed. She glanced at her now empty mug, and decided that she'd have a glass of red wine to finish off the night. She deserved a little nightcap after being rejected a little earlier that day.

She stood up, her body stiff from sitting on the couch for so long. She stretched her arms over her head and stood up on her tip toes, trying to loosen up. After stretching for a second, she headed to the kitchen, rubbing the back of her sore neck. She stifled another yawn, and she pulled a wine glass from the cabinet. She pulled a bottle of pinot noir from her small, counter-top wine rack. With a quick twist of the cork screw, she heard a pop echo through the kitchen, and she poured herself a generous portion. .

She walked back into the living room, sipping the rich, red wine. Mellow and fruity, but with a rich spiciness that tickled her tongue, she relished the ambrosia, and she felt her spirits lift. Her task didn't seem so daunting. Smiling slightly, she settled back on the couch, feeling refreshed.

So, of course, a loud, discordant knock echoed from her front door.

She tossed her head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, debating on whether or not she was going to answer the door. The loud rapping of wood on wood continued to sound, louder with each tap. She leaned forward, putting her glass on the glass-topped coffee table before she lightly got to her feet. Irritated, she strode across the living room into the small foyer, briefly resting her forehead against the door. She didn't really want to answer it, but she didn't want her elderly neighbors to be bothered by the obnoxious man on the other side, either.

With a soft groan, she jerked the door open just as he lifted his cane to strike again. "Finally," he growled, sneering at her. "Took you long enough. Worried that your frozen pops are gonna melt?"

"Shut. Up." she warned, keeping her body in between the door frame and the door, denying him access. "I have to put up with your insults and taunts at work, but I will not put up with it here." Her tone was low and angry. She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. "Now, tell me want you want, and leave."

"Let me in, and I tell you why I'm here," he counter-offered.

"Tell me why your here, and I'll consider not calling the cops," she shot back.

He glowered at her for a second. "Fine," he spat. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm here to," he wrinkled up his nose, as if he smelled something distasteful. "I'm here to apologize," he grunted, casting his eyes to the ground, tapping his cane in a discordant rhythm. "Sort of."

She blinked, then scoffed. "Sort of?"

He rolled his eyes, obviously agitated and irritated. "I stand by my comments earlier. No way in hell that your ready to be a mom, but if it's what you want to do," he sighed, trailing off.

"You'll help me?" She was suspicious of him. Of his motives.

He nodded once. "Lead the way, Kemo Boot-ay."

She rolled her eyes, and moved out the way, so he could enter her home.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

**_~ Disaster Waiting To Happen ~_**

He walked into her home, and he glanced around. A few hours earlier, he had never thought he would be in this position. He had been confident that he was right shooting her down. He knew she was going to ask him to do the moment she walked in his office. There was something about the set of her shoulders, the determination in her eyes. Cuddy wasn't someone who was used to being told no.

Which is just what he did.

He knew the question was going to come the moment he had teased her about Wilson's dinner. He had insinuated that he was interested, when the only thing he _was_ interested in was getting into her lacy Victoria's Secret cherry red thongs.

He'd always had a thing for his boss'..._thing_.

But the consequences of that infatuation with Cuddy's fun parts was something he was definitely _not_ interested in. He had no desire, want, or need to be a father. Hell, he could barely handle a rat, let alone anything else capable of intelligent thought. Besides, he was a misanthropic drug addict. Despite the genius and the killer blue eyes, any kid of his would have so many issues _their_ grandkids wouldn't have worked through them.

Add Cuddy's insecurities and quirks into the mix, and you got one fucked up kid.

He decided a long time ago that he wouldn't punish a kid by being its dad, and so far, to the best of his knowledge, he had kept that oath.

Now, standing in the warm foyer of her home, he was planning on breaking that silent, personal vow.

And worst of all, he couldn't explain to himself _why._

After work, he had headed to Cooper's for drinks and burgers with Wilson. They had cursed the Yankees, swore at the Orioles, downed a couple of beers, and eaten the best burgers and fries in Princeton. All and all, it was a good time. At least, it should have been. He found himself staring at the T.V. behind the bar, and suddenly, he was back in his office, and all he could see was the hurt in those steel colored eyes when he turned her down.

He had said plenty of things in the past that would have torn most relationships apart and burned them into dust, and he had said most of those things to her. He wasn't proud of it, but he wasn't wallowing in pain because of it, either. It just was.

But something about _that_ look, there, in his office, that had affected him. It touched him, there in a place that he had thought had healed over years ago. He had thought the old hurts were locked away behind scars and callouses, but the look she had given him had reopened that old wound, causing the old pain to rear its ugly head again.

And he wasn't thinking about his thigh. He'd forgiven her that a long time ago, even though he knew she hadn't forgiven herself.

"What do you want?" Her flat, mildly irritated tone broke him out of his mental musings.

He looked at her, and he saw that look. Her eyes were flat, without the sparkle. Her normally generous mouth was pressed into a thin line, and her jaw was clenched tight. Her thin shoulders, which usually held up the weight of the world, were slumped, and her spine sagged. To him, she looked frail and tired.

He pressed his lips together, and he tapped his cane on the carpet, trying to form the words that should be easy. He snorted to himself, finding annoyingly funny that in his large vocabulary, the words _I'm_ and _sorry_ didn't come naturally. He found himself staring at the rug on the hardwood floor, trying to pick out the geometric pattern. "House," her voice wormed their way into his mind, but he didn't look up. "It's late. Tell me what you want, or leave."

"I'll do it," he blurted out, his voice hoarse from strain.

She blinked at him. Her mouth worked to form words, but no sound came out. She shook her head in confusion. "What?" she stammered.

"I'll...do it," he mumbled, running his free hand over his hair while the hand that gripped the cane tighten. "I'll take one for the team to further your cause."

She made a funny noise in the back of her throat. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Dammit, Cuddy," he snapped. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" He paced in front of her fireplace. "I'll be your baby daddy."

Her jaw dropped. "I'm overwhelmed by your generosity," she told him, harshly, but in that dry tone she used when he said something stupid or obvious. "But I'll find my options elsewhere. Your services won't be needed."

"I have my own conditions," he continued on, as if she hadn't said anything.

"What? Me parade around in a French Maid's outfit at the hospital?" She shook her head. "I made a mistake in asking you. Leave. Now."

He sucked on his lower lip. "You want me to do this," he said in a low voice. "This is a short time deal, you know. I can revoke it at anytime." He limped over to her couch, and he flipped through the embarrassing small pile of profiles she was considering. "I'm cooler than all _one _of these." She shot him a dirty look, and he just looked up and gave her a wry grin. "Smarter, and much more good-looking, too."

"You're also much more of an ass."

"You met this guy? His file screams _Loser. _Capital _L_. But there's nothing in here about ass-hood." He flipped the cover of the folder closed. "I know you want to engineer the perfect kid, but you can't do that. You're trying to control the thing, and you can't. Shit happens, Cuddy. And the sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be."

His words stung. "I'm not trying to control anything," she snapped back. _If looks could kill_, he thought, _I'd be a dead man_. "I want you out of my house," she informed him. She shook her head. "I should have never told you about this." She shook her head. "I should have lied."

"If you didn't, I'd have found out another way," he told her. For a few minutes, they stood off, waiting for the other to break. He finally sighed. "Look, Cuddy, you want my help, you got it. I don't have to be happy about this, and if the kid gets here, I'm gone. This is a favor, to you." He passed a hand over his face, waiting for her answer.

"Is," she sighed. "Is that one of your conditions?"

He nodded, hearing the defeat in her voice. "One of them. No financial involvement, either. Once the kid's born, _if_ it's born, I'm out of its life, period. I'm doing this for you." _Not for it. I don't want kids._ He didn't say the words aloud, but she knew they were there. He knew she knew. If she had been raised by his parents, she'd feel the same way.

She nodded, leaning against the couch. "My condition," she said, staring up at the ceiling, "is that this stays between us. Wilson doesn't get to know. Your team doesn't get to know. The hospital doesn't know." She swallowed. "I don't want _anyone_ knowing that I'm doing this. Not even your mother."

He nodded. "Fair enough. Anything else, since we're setting terms?" He watched as she bit her lip, knowing that she was trying to cover her ass and close any loopholes she could find.

"This _can't_ affect our working relationship," she said aloud, slowly, as if sounding it out. "There are already too many accusations of me giving you preferential treatment. I don't need to give them anymore fuel to fan that fire."

He nodded, sitting down on the couch, knowing who _they _were, and understanding why she didn't want _them_ to know. He put the few folders scattered on the softly upholstered sofa on the coffee table. "Fair enough." He tilted his head and looked at her. "At least you'll be having a little fun even if the suits find out.

She frowned, and moved closer to him, to straighten the scattered folders. "What do you mean?" she asked, hesitantly, dreading the answer.

He darted out a large hand, smiling a little at how easily it encircled her small, bony wrist. With a little effort, he tugged on her arm, knocking her off balance enough to fall gently on top of him. He smiled slyly, enjoying the light press of her body on his. He shifted, so she straddled his good leg. She made an effort to stand back up, but he wrapped his other arm around her waist, pressing his hand on the small of her back, keeping her in place. "If we're gonna do this," he whispered huskily. "We do this the old-fashioned way first." He began rubbing the little indent of her spine with the pad of his thumb, watching as she grew wide-eyed at his words. "If that fails, then I'll let you use your turkey baster."

She made a small sound, and he grinned, splaying a big palm along the exposed smooth skin of her back, where her white sleeveless t-shirt had rode up. If he was going to do this, he was at least going to have a little fun. He gave her a wicked grin, then he shifted his palm down, squeezing the toned, firm muscle of her bottom. "You at least owe me a little fun," he growled.

She tried to sit up, but the weight of his arm kept her pinned to his body. "I don't owe you nothing," she growled back, shifting against him.

She lifted her head, and he looked deep in the pools of stormy gray sky. Arousal and anger flickered there, alternatively, and he found himself smirking at her. "Fine," he grunted, sitting up, causing her to roll off the couch. He stood up, grunting a little with the effort, and he picked up his cane. "Offer's done. Have fun with your turkey baster." He made an effort to move away, but she rose to her feet.

She caught his arm, her light touch burning his skin beneath the layers of clothes and denial. He twisted his neck to look at her, pursing his lips, waiting. She took a deep breath, "are we ever going to get on the same page?"

He twitched his shoulder in a shrug. "Twenty years, and we've never come close," he huffed, softly. "Look," he rolled his eyes to look at the ceiling. "Do you want to do this or not." When she didn't answer right away, he impatiently informed her, "it's fourth down, 98 yards and 15 seconds to go. What play do you call?" He rolled his eyes back down to hers, waiting for her response.

He just hoped it was one that they could both live with.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N -_**

**_Um, so, yeah. The rating changed for this chapter. You've been warned ;-)_**

**_On with the show!_**

**_Disclaimer - I don't own House, but if I did, House and Cuddy would have gotten together a LOOOOONG time ago :-P DS and Co own House. May they have mercy on our Huddy souls...  
_**

_**Chapter Three**_

_**~ The Ends Justify The Means ~**_

Like the man, she had a love-hate relationship with his metaphors, but, like the man, they challenged her.

Her brain worked feverishly, trying to see the conclusion he wanted to lead her to before she ran out of time. Did he want her to try for the Hail Mary, to chuck the ball down the field with reckless abandon, or did he want her to try a trick play, lateraling the ball to multiple receivers while avoiding the defense. Both plays depended on good receivers, and both had a less than one percent chance of actually working. One needed a powerful quarterback, while the other needed a wily one, as well as well coordinated offensive players. One fumbled lateral, and the play, and the game was done.

So she closed her eyes, and she put her faith in the Hail Mary.

Ironic, since she was Jewish.

Her brain processed that in a split second, and she rose up on her toes. She kissed him, hard, while sliding a hand under his leather jacket, trying to work her way through the layers of clothes. He wasn't expecting her reaction, and he lost his balance, crashing to the sofa, pulling her with him. He broke of her kiss, his lips burning with the force. "So," he gasped as she pushed the jacket off his shoulders, "does this mean I get an all access pass to your love rug?"

"Shut up, House," came her/ reply. "This is just a donation. Nothing else." She sat up, straddling his hips. She was angry. Angry with the situation. Angry that she would owe House. Angry that she needed a sperm donor in the first place. Angry that every relationship that she'd ever been in had ended poorly.

Good for her that when she was with House, her anger was just fuel for her passion, and that fights were just foreplay.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," House gasped as she tugged on his belt. His arms were tangled in his jacket, and he worked them out of it. "Slow down, cowgirl. I don't want rugburn on my John Thomas."

She froze mid-motion, and she glared at him. "Thought this was what you wanted," she growled, her breathing ragged.

He shook his head. "You're pissed. You think you've been cornered, and that this is your only way out." He took her hands in his larger ones. "Not that I don't enjoy it a little rough, but I'm not an unselfish lover." He looked into her stormy eyes. "As you should know." She opened her mouth to say something, but he shushed her with his eyes. "You want something I can provide, let's at least have a little fun out of it, okay."

"But this _isn't_ fun," she told him.

"Sex isn't fun?" His eyes went wide with puzzlement. "C'mon, Cuddy. You seemed to have fun the _last_ time we did it?" He paused, and a slow grin formed over his rugged features. "Is that why you need a _pop_cicle? Because you don't _enjoy_ sex? Did I really sour you on it?" A smirk of pure male satisfaction washed over his features, making her blanch. "I really am _that_ awesome," he preened.

"Does the weight of your own ego suffocate you at night?" Her cheeks colored slightly. "I _enjoy_ sex," she admitted.

"You don't like the companionship that comes with it." He shifted a little, his jeans becoming a little more comfortable through their conversation. "You're used to doing things your way, how and what you want to do. It galls you that you're needy enough to want the company of another human being. You don't want anyone invading your space."

"_You_ invade my space all the time."

"That's only because the shine of my ego can worry its way through the cracks in the twenty foot high, four foot thick wall you put around yourself," he shot back.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," she retorted.

"That's not a argument. That's a deflection," he answered quickly, then he gave her a smug look. "And that proves my point."

"What point is that?" she asked him, dryly. She was tired and defeated, and he saw that in the way she slumped her shoulders. He liked his Cuddy ready for the fight. He watched her stand her ground in front of the big, bad Vogler monster, and she walked away the giant killer. It really was a shame that her innermost dream had never came true. That for all her professional successes, she felt like a failure.

He could relate to that.

"That you're as much of a lonely fuck-up as I am. The exception is that you want a family to make you feel better about yourself, whereas I rather shove red hot pokers through my eyelids. You want my daddy juice, fine. But I want a little something-something in return. It's a fair deal, okay." He watched as she thought about his words.

"Then we're both destined to be miserable?" Her voice was tinged with a wry sadness.

"Destiny's overrated. Look at the hand Fate dealt me." He quirked his lips into a slight smile. "But misery, that's relative." He ran a thumb over her ribcage, watching her shudder a little under his touch. He grinned to himself, _she's ticklish. I'd forgotten that... _

He suddenly shifted up, nearly knocking her off balance. "So," his voice returned to its normal tone, "we can sit here and discuss how totally fucked up we are, and how this is wrong. How what's spawned from our union is pretty likely to be the Antichrist" He paused as she tilted her head to look at him while rolling her eyes. "Or, we can get busy getting busy, and get you knocked up."

"I don't ovulate for another week," she informed him, lifting her chin up, haughtingly.

He shrugged, grinning. "Practice run, then. Gotta remember how to shift your gears." His thumb moved around her ribs, and he flickered across her nipple, watching it go erect through her tee shirt. "Gotta remember just how much gas I need to give you to get your motor running."

"Big words, big man," she growled, trying to ignore the flare of arousal that his light touch had ignited in her. "You think you can handle this machine?" She ground her hips against his, and she felt him harden beneath her.

The air escaped his lungs in a harsh gasp. "You're high performance, but I think I can get your motor purring," he growled smugly, pulling her down to him. His lips met her cheek, her ear, her neck, leaving a trail of fire everywhere they touched. His hands shoved her shirt up, exposing her breasts.

She gasped a little, realizing they were in her well lit living room, even though they were hidden from the windows by the back of her sofa. "Bedroom. Now." She choked out as his mouth latched on to a pert nipple, suckling hard while hand held her close to him, not allowing her to move.

He nodded his head, grazing his teeth along the smooth skin as he pulled his mouth away. "Good idea. Wouldn't want to give your peeping tom neighbors a free show. They should pay to get a good view of Little Greg."

She pushed her shirt down enough to be decent, then crawled off the couch. Her legs felt like they had turned to jell-o, and knees were shaking so bad she was worried that they wouldn't carry her weight. She was scared, so sure that he would have rejected her. Rejection she could handle. This though, this was tough. She bit her lip as she watched him struggle to free himself from the grip of her sofa. "They'd probably be scarred for life, seeing your pudding ass shining like the full moon out my window," she informed him.

"Ha," he grunted, standing upright. "I think your mistaken. My buns of steel should win awards. You're the one with back, J-Lo." He followed her to her bed, like an eager puppy, and she could feel the tension rising. As much as she wanted a baby, she was frightened of him. _This is just a business arrangement_, she told herself nervously. _A business arrangement that just happens to include us being naked. Together. In bed._

"Stop it," he growled when they got to her bedroom. "I'm not doing this because I like you," he unfastened his belt while toeing off his shoes. "I'm doing this so you'll owe me something later on." At her dirty look, he shrugged, shoving his jeans to the floor. "I'm not being an ass to be an ass," he pulled of his tee shirt. "I'm just being honest."

His honesty was refreshing, but somewhat tempered by the erection that was poking out of the slit of his plaid boxers. He walked over to her, and he slipped his fingers under her shirt, tugging it up. "You'll enjoy riding Mount Gregory," he gave her a little smile. "At least you did the first time."

She looked up at him as he palmed both her breasts in his hands, massaging them gently. "Now _these_ remember." She bit back a laugh as he winked at her, then he lowered his mouth. As many compliments as he gave her ass, she knew he was, in truth, a breast man. And he worshiped hers, driving the embers of arousal into a roaring flame. As he nipped, sucked, and palmed, his free hand drifted down her back, and it slipped into the waist of her sweats. He rolled his eyes up. She closed her eyes, and her hands roamed over his shoulders, arms, and chest. He was much more defined than he was twenty years ago, all the edges had been filled in and smoothed out.

After playing with her breasts for what seemed like hours, they finally dropped onto her bed, and he worked her pants around to her ankles, caressing the fine bones and narrow feet as he slipped the soft cotton sweats around them. Moving back up her body, he slowly kissed his way there, and everywhere he kissed, she felt like her skin was going to combust.

So when he made his way to her core, her back arched off the bed, and her blood felt like it turned into lava. Her skin heated, and beads of sweat formed as his mouth lapped at her arousal. She fisted the sheets around, her body responding to every soft touch and lick. The muscles in her stomach tensed first, then pulsed, as the heat escaped, and she cried her triumph to the dark.

When she opened her eyes, her breathing wasn't as ragged, though her body still felt like it was on fire. He loomed over her, his hand stroking her smoldering skin, a smug smirk of satisfaction etched on his features. "Sex is good, right?" He leaned and trailed soft kisses along her neck, and his arrogant erection nudged her lower lips, demanding entrance. He slid a big hand down her thigh, and he thrust forward, stoking the already burning fire deep with in her.

They moved with an easy rhythm. Her hips met his, driving him deep with in her inner heat. She clawed at his back, wanting, needing...

With a low keening wail, she felt her body flare, and a pulsing fire spread out from her abdomen her limbs. A few grunts later, she felt him pulse deep with in her, riding out his own eruption. He stayed in her as long as he could, holding her hips to his. When he finally went soft, he rolled over. "That," he hissed, "was _so_ much more fun without the rubber coat." He looked up at her. "I almost forgot how _good _a woman feels."

She snorted. "Thanks for ruining the afterglow," she growled, but she felt her eyelids already growing heavy. It had been a long day, and the lack of tension in her body was making her sleepy. She felt his fingers trail between her breasts, down an invisible line to her navel. She forced her eyes to stay open, and through the lashes, she watched him as he watched her.

He looked..._sad_. That wasn't what she was expecting.

Then he looked at her and grinned. "Better than a turkey baster, right?" Those were the last words she heard before sleep over took her.

[H] [H] [H]

He wasn't there when she woke up, but then, she hadn't expected him to be. There had been no cuddling, no soft words that were usually exchanged between lovers, and other than her nakedness and the small pile of her clothes on the floor, there wasn't any signs that he'd been there at all.

She stretched, and she stared at the ceiling, thinking back to her transaction. That's what it had been, a business transaction. She slid her hand down to her abdomen, pressing down on it gently. She could only hope that the mess she had created was worth it.

It _had_ to be. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing hard. It had to be, because if it wasn't... If all her dreams came crashing down... She didn't think she could handle that.

After a moment, she pushed the memories of the night before out of her mind, and she began her day. It wasn't until much later, while sitting alone at her desk in her office, she realized that after her initial kiss, he had never kissed her on the mouth...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

~ The Road To Hell ~

In the bathroom in her office, Cuddy sat on the down toilet seat, watching the pregnancy test. Her lips were pressed into a tense, thin line, and her chin rested on her clasped hands. She closed her eyes, and she swallowed, her mouth dry with nervousness. A lump sat in the base of her throat, and another one rested at the bottom of her stomach. For a second, the world had stopped.

Until the clatter of wood on wood caused her to literally teleport across the small bathroom.

Biting her lip, she jerked open the door, glaring at the occupant that had so rudely intruded on her personal moment. "What the hell do you want," she snarled, not bothering to keep the anger out of her voice.

He sneered at her. "God, Cuddy. You think getting a visit from Doctor Love every night for the past two weeks would lighten you up." He glanced inside the bathroom, and he saw the pregnancy test she had bought at Walgreen's on the way to work resting on the sink ledge. He blinked at it, then his eyes returned to her, his expression somewhat softened, but ultimately unreadable. "Why don't you go to the Clinic, get a blood draw."

She worried her bottom lip for a second before responding. "Because I don't want anyone to know." She sighed. "Because I want to be pretty sure myself."

He nodded, a short jerky motion. "It's hard enough to be let down by something." He paused, never breaking eye contact. "It's even harder to be let down in front of someone else."

She nodded, then composed herself. "What do you want."

"A quickie," he grinned at her. "I'm bored, and I want something to do. Figured you were up for another ride on my rod of love."

She rolled her eyes, giving him a dirty look. "We're not having this conversation," she informed him, stepping into her office, leaving the test behind. Not that she didn't want to find out; she was walking on pins and needles, but she didn't want _him_ to find out. _It's none of his business_, she told herself. _It's not like he would care, anyway. He's made it perfectly clear that he's not interested in being a father. He's just in it for the sex._

"Really?" His incredulous voice broke through her thoughts. "I thought I initiated this conversation." She glared at him, and he smirked. "You're tense. An _injection_ would do you some good."

The man had a one tract mind. "The answer is no, House." She walked him over to her door. "If you're really _that_ bored, there are about three years worth of Clinic hours you could be getting caught up on." She put her hand on the handle of the door, ignoring his disappointed glower.

"But," he whined, "there are sick people out there. I could catch something from them." He pouted at her, thrusting out his lower lip like a angry toddler.

"You're a doctor," she hissed at him. "I'm sure you'll be fine." He opened his mouth to whine again, but she held up a hand. "House. Clinic. Now," she told him in a voice that brokered no arguments. She opened the door for him, motioning him out.

He gave her a dirty look, then loudly, he announced. "I don't really think you need ass implants, Doctor Cuddy. Yours is big enough as it is." She felt her cheeks flush, but all she did was grind her teeth as he walked away, leaving the other doctors around to stare at her. Fortunately, they were so used to Housian tactics that they quickly went back to what they were doing before his outburst. Only a few green med students gaped open-mouthed at the blatant insubordination and disrespect the cranky, gimpy doctor had for his boss.

Cuddy wasn't sure that was a good thing.

[H] [H] [H]

House limped determinedly out of Cuddy's outer office, huffing to himself. Clinic duty! There were worse things in the world to do, but not many. He had been avoiding it all day, but now that he had been forced to go...

He ground his teeth together. He should just bite the bullet and go, but his feet turned into lead weights, not wanting to carry him further. He glanced down the hall at the elevators, lifting an eyebrow. Maybe he could escape to the morgue...

"House!" A young female voice called after him. He threw his head back, rolling his eyes as his fellow, Allison Cameron, came running to catch up with him. "What was that about?" Her perky inquisition irritated him, and he was already irritated.

"Nothing," he barked. "Just trying to get out of Clinic duty." He rolled his head to her. "Not that it's any of _your_ business," he drawled, hoping she would get the point.

"I think you just made it my business," she informed him. Her air of superiority annoyed him. "Actually, I think you just made it the entire hospital's business," her voice had an irritating note of mockery in it, and it grated on his nerves.

He glared at her. "I always make my attitude with Cuddy's Clinic policy public." He jerked his chin up. "Go back to the office, see what the boys have to do. If you find anything interesting, page me. I don't want to spend more time down here than I have to."

"That wasn't about Cuddy's Clinic policy," she reasoned out. _Oh god_, he groaned to himself as she began her thesis on why he did what he did. _Why the hell does she care that I did what I always do. Humiliate Cuddy so that no one suspect's what's going on._ "Something else is going on," she continued. "I bet your trying for a power play," she told him, a gleeful grin on her face. "There's something you want, that Cuddy can give you."

_A blow job_. He rolled his eyes. _Mind blowing sex. Ta-tas that can fill my hands, and a pussy that I can fuck._ _Wait a minute, do I really think about sex this much? I need to get laid. Right now. To bad Cuddy won't fuck me in the office. I bet it would be so fucking amazing._ "That's exactly it!" The sarcasm in his overdone praise was lost on the poor girl. "Now, why don't you mind-meld with Foreman and the ass-kisser on what it's about." She started to open her mouth, but he quickly cut her off. "Or, better yet, why don't you, Brit, and Homie look through all the files on my desk, and see if any one of those would interest me." She glared at him, and he just roll his eyes. "For everyone that you three pick out that _won't_ interst me, you'll have to do an hour of my Clinic duty." She looked like she was going to explode, and he turned and walked away, smirking. Tormenting Cameron always put a smile on his face.

He walked into the Clinic, and he made his way to the nurse's station. "Good morning, Nurse Previn," he gave her the widest smile his face could handle. "How are you this fine day?"

He got a snort for an answer. He and Brenda Previn had tormented each other since he started working for the hospital. She was the head of the nurse's union, and during the last contract negotiations, she had tried to put a clause in just for him. Something about nurse's needing to sign waivers to deal with his patients.

She was serious; he found it endless entertaining.

"Exam Room Four," she told him bluntly, handing him a folder. He opened. "Big fat tongue? Jackpot!" His irritation disappeared, replaced with a child like glee. Christmas had come early this year. He closed the file, and he gave her a bright smile. "I always knew you loved me," he ignored her dirty look, and he practically skipped to the exam room.

He tried very hard to wipe the smile off his face before he entered the exam room. It was difficult, but he managed to do it. He took a seat in front of the guy. "Says here in the chart that this happened during a luncheon?" The big guy nodded. His tongue was so puffed up that it filled his mouth making it difficult to talk. "Does it hurt?" House was determined to get him to say _something._ He was going to have a great time recounting this to Wilson later.

"Nawh Weawy," the guy forced out. It took every effort of will, but House managed not to break a smile, though he thought he was going to explode. This was amazing.

"This is probably an allergic reaction," House informed him. The guy gave him a _duh_ look. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions, just to get an idea of what you were exposed to. After that, I'll get my minions to run a series of tests on you, to figure out what's wrong." House's inner child was doing backflips. This was amazing, and best of all, the man had a legitimate illness. But fat tongue should be enough to get Cuddy to admit him, at least for the afternoon. It was days like this that made him glad to be a doctor.

The man nodded, looking relieved. "Han Ooo." House fought the urge to giggle like a school girl. This was truly amazing.

After running through a series of questions meant to humiliate the poor bastard, House practically skipped to the elevators. He made his way up to the office, where his fellows were sitting at the conference table. "Gotta case!" he crowed, holding up the patient file. "Big fat tongue. Could be serious."

Cameron blinked at him. "From the Clinic?" she asked, closing the file she was looking at.

"Duh," House made his way to the small counter to pour some coffee.. "Guy's got a temperature of a hundred and three."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "And why do we care?"

"'Cause, we're human beings. That's what we do." He paused, putting the carafe back on the warmer. "Said he was at a luncheon meeting."

"_You _took his history?" Cameron asked, skeptically.

"Guy looks like Harpo. You should see him." House told her, as if that would explain everything.

Chase read the file. "You asked him what book he's currently reading?"

"It's hilarious to watch him try and talk." House explained. "I asked him anything I could think of." He grinned a little. "Favorite color. 'Blwoo.'" His eyes glittered with mischievous malice. "I asked him if he was sure." He looked up to see Foreman gathering his things in a huff. "Where are you going?"

Foreman snapped his briefcase closed with a resonating _click_. "You're an ass," he muttered audibly.

"I know," House answered. "Where are you going?" he repeated.

Irritated, Foreman told him, "this is either a toxin, an infection, or an allergic reaction. I assume you gave him epi, so that rules out allergies. Put him on antibiotics in case it's an infection, and if it's a toxin, we'll keep him here overnight., let the swelling go down, send him home." He huffed a little. "I'm goin' to the movies."

Foreman made a move to leave the office, when a balding man in a gray suit entered the office. He glanced around the room calmly. "Which one of you is House?"

The team was puzzled, but not surprised. As many laws as House had broken in the past, they figured it might have been a detective coming to serve papers. It'd happened before.

House himself was equally indifferent to the man. "Skinny brunette, he told the man from over his shoulder, then he turned back to the whiteboard. Big fat tongue was infinitely more interesting than getting legal papers served.

Cameron stood up, but the man just looked at her. "No, that's Doctor Cameron," he said in a soft, calm voice.

_That_ got the team's attention, and House's. Lawyers usually were never interested in the team, nor did they know their names. House turned towards the man, interested. "I'm skinny. How do you know her name?" he asked, cautiously. Something was up.

"I was a patient of yours," the man told him.

House was a little relieved, and annoyed. "Oh, well, if you wanna leave the chocolates downstairs..."

The man quickly pulled a small revolver from his pocket, and the _bang_ it made rang in House's ears. He felt the impact of the bullet driving him back, and he felt the red hot pain fill his abdomen. He crashed to the ground, stunned. His belly went numb and cold. _Shock_, the word echoed in his mind. _I've been shot, and I'm going into shock. _He didn't know how bad, but he felt the cold fingers of fear creep through his body, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The man stood over him, and he stared wildly into his shooter's eyes. "Shocking." The man commented calmly, keeping the gun trained on him. "Who'd want to hurt you?"

His throat worked to say something, but nothing would come out. His mind went blank, and he heard another loud pop, another sting.

Right before he lost consciousness, he thought about Cuddy, and the possibility of her carrying his child. He thought about dying, and never being there to see the kid from afar, to see if it really had his killer blue eyes.

Then, fade to black.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

_**~ Darkness Falls ~**_

Cuddy sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair. She would have made a note to herself to make the visitors' chairs more comfortable, but she wasn't thinking about hospital matters at the moment. Her haunted gray eyes were focused on the man in the hospital bed in front of her, and her head was swimming with thoughts of guilt and regret. The hospital could wait, at least until he regained consciousness.

"Hey," a soft voice roused her slightly. James Wilson, confidant and friend, had come into House's ICU room. "Got you this," he told her in that same sincere and quiet tone he used on his cancer patients. No wonder they thanked him for telling them that they were terminal.

She accepted the paper cup of coffee gratefully. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse from disuse. She'd barely spoken in days. Since she found out that House was shot. She took a sip, the warm liquid traveling down her throat, the ambrosia of the gods. She cleared her throat. "Thank you," she repeated in what she hoped was a stronger tone.

He nodded, and he pulled up an equally uncomfortable plastic chair. "You look terrible," he told her gently.

"Gee, thanks," she shot back at him, but her retort was weak, and the sarcasm wasn't there.

"You need to go home. Sleep." He rubbed his own sleep deprived eyes. "We all need to."

She shook her head. "I can't leave." The guilt formed a heavy weight in her belly. "It's my fault that he's here."

"How's that?" Wilson gaped at her. "Did you put the gun in that guy's hand? Did you hire him to shoot House?"

"Of course not," she felt her lip quiver. _I will not cry,_ she told herself. _I will not cry. _She bit down on it, trying to hold three days of unshed tears back.

"Then don't blame yourself." He put a reassuring arm around her thin shoulders. "Not to make light of the situation, but we should have known that something like this might happen. God knows he's pissed off enough people." He tried to give her a small smile, but even he couldn't hide that he felt the same guilt and worry that she felt. "We ought to be glad it happened in the hospital. If it'd happen in a bar, or even the parking lot..." he shivered at the thought.

"_Ought_ to be glad?" she hissed. "A mad man came into _my_ hospital and shot a doctor. Whether House deserved it or not is a moot point. He shot one of _my_ doctors, and he got away. The hospital is facing an inquiry on our security procedures, and this has been all over the news." Her dull eyes flashed at him. "I've been put on administrative leave until the investigation is over."

"And there's nothing that could have been done, unless the Board wants to install metal detectors at every entrance, and search everyone who comes in. Do you know how many weapons are confiscated every _night_ from the E.R.? Jenkins has a cabinet of fame full of them in his office." He paused, "that is, all the ones that weren't taken by the cops."

She bit her lip, and she clasped her hands tightly together. Keeping his arm around her, he gently clasped her hands in his free one. "This. Is not your fault, Lisa. It was a fluke. You'll be fine. He'll be fine. The hospital will be fine. Stop beating yourself up over this, and go home. Get some real food, and get some real sleep."

She shook her head adamantly. "No. Not until he wakes up." Her tone brokered no argument, and he removed his arm from her shoulders, the chill emitting from her was palpable.

Wilson sat back for a moment. Something was going on, he knew it. But he wasn't going to argue with her about it. It could be just that, that her hospital had been assaulted, not just a doctor, but somehow, he couldn't see her holding vigil over Jenkins, or any other doctor, for that matter. Himself included.

No, House had always occupied a special place in Cuddy's life, though, he doubted it was a happy place. He didn't say anything about it, though. He just stood up, and he patted her on the back. "I've got an appointment, but I'll be back down in an hour or so. Page me if anything changes." She nodded, hearing his words, but not really processing them. As he left the room, he took one look back at his friends, one unconscious, the other nearly catatonic. He silently prayed that the best would happen, because he didn't know if they could handle the worst.

When he finally left, she scooted the chair as close to his bedside as she could. She took a long moment to study the lines of his face, the thick growth of beard on his cheeks. He looked as peaceful as she had ever seen him. His chest rose up and down, and the monitors beside his bedside loudly beeped with every beat of his heart. It was the only sound in the multi-bed space, and, in an odd way, it was reassuring. She reached out a small hand, and she slipped it into his larger, calloused one. She gave it a little squeeze, just to let him know that someone was there. That someone cared.

She shouldn't have been surprised, but her heart nearly stopped when he squeezed back. She gasped and blinked, not ready to believe it was real, so she squeezed harder. The pressure she felt was light, but it was a response, not a twitch. She darted her eyes from his hand to his face, and she watched as his head twitched a little.

"You and Wilson need to learn to keep your voices down," his weak voice broke the monotonous tone of the heart rate monitor. "You were loud enough to wake the dead."

"Oh my god," she breathed. With her free hand, she brushed her hair out of her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

He coughed a little. "Like I've been shot," he told her, the dry tone he used reassured her." He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling tiles for a moment before rolling them to look at her. "Your security sucks." He coughed again, and swallowed. "I should sue. Good thing I hate lawyers." He gave her a small smirk.

She slipped her hand out of his, and she hopped out of her chair. She filled a plastic cup with water from a pitcher on a small table in between beds. "I'm the best goddamn doctor in the hospital," he told her as he watched her get his water, "and I don't even fucking get my own goddamn room."

She handed him the water, and he took a grateful sip. "How's my patient?"

"Don't care about your own injuries?" she asked.

He twitched his shoulders in a weak shrug. "I was shot. Big deal. I'll have a few days to read my own surgical notes and charts." He gave her a little smirk. "So, big fat tongue?"

She shook her head. "Toxin. He's been released, with no further damage." She returned his weak smirk. "He did say something about being humiliated in the exam, and that we'd be hearing from his lawyer."

He sighed. "Another happy customer. I should change my career to customer service."

"You wouldn't last twenty minutes," she snorted. She sat back down in her chair. "Do you remember anything about the shooting?"

"Aren't the police supposed to be asking those questions?" he grumbled.

She bit her lip. "Do you remember asking for ketamine instead of an anesthetic?"

He lifted his head a little, frowning at her. He let his head drop back to the pillow, the motion making his head spin. He thought for a long moment. "Right before I went out," he murmured. "I'd read a study where it's been used for pain management." His frown grew deeper. "But you weren't in there with me. My team was."

She nodded, inwardly relieved that his memories were in tact. "Cameron came and told me what you asked for while they prepped you for emergency surgery."

"And you gave the okay?" He closed his eyes, feeling groggy and dizzy. His lips formed a small smile. Morphine was nice.

"Yeah." She took a deep breath. "We never caught the guy," she said softly, the ball of guilt growing larger. She had to clasp her hands together to keep them from shaking.

"Like I said," he murmured, "your security sucks." He felt himself drifting back into unconsciousness, but something was nagging at his brain. "Your pregnancy test," he mumbled, his mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton balls. "Was it positive?"

Emotions swirled with in her. She bit her lip, but before she answered, he had started snoring softly. She pressed her hands to her abdomen, closing her eyes to keep the tears from falling. "No," she whispered aloud.

Once she composed herself, she paged Wilson, letting him know that House had woken up briefly. When he entered the room relief plastered on his face, she left, feeling suffocated by her own mixed emotions.

She didn't remember walking out to her car in the parking lot, nor did she remember actually driving home. She was running on autopilot, the stress of the past three days finally wearing her down. She parked the car, and she slowly climbed out, her limbs complaining about every movement.

The energy that had come from the coffee and vending machine snacks she had been consuming for the past few days finally ran out, and she staggered to her bedroom. She didn't even take her clothes off before climbing into bed. She curled up in a small ball, drawing her knees to her chest, and she closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered before a deep and dreamless sleep overtook her, was her whispering one word.

"House."


	6. Chapter 6

_**~ Chapter Six ~**_

_**The World Keeps On Turnin'**_

_Thump, thump, thump. _The rhythm was slightly unsteady, but to him, it was music to his ears.

Eight years. It had been eight years since he could do this. He had been a natural athlete, and his younger days were filled with activity. Baseball, basketball, football, later soccer and lacrosse. He had been on both the track and cross-country teams in high school, earning a letter in both. Behind the genius, he was a jock. It hadn't been easy to walk in both worlds.

He had been a runner up until the infarction, and while it wasn't his favorite sport, he had played golf as soon as he finished his residency. The steady beat of his feet hitting the rubber pad of the treadmill rang in his ears, and it put a smile on his face. It was good to _run_ again.

Running was fun. Before the infarction, if he needed to puzzle something out, he would lace up his Nikes, and he would run. Five miles, ten miles. Sometimes, he would be gone for hours, eventually coming home to an angry Stacy, who was worried that he had just disappeared.

Sweat poured from his brow, dripping into his eyes, but all he could do was look straight ahead, staring at the blank wall. He listened to the reassuring sound, felt the slight pull of his underused muscles. He would be sore the next day, but it was worth it.

As he jogged on, the door to the physical therapy room opened. The stitch in his side twinged, and he stopped, breathing hard. He picked up a towel hanging on the treadmill, and he wiped his sweat covered face with it. He tossed the towel aside, and he walked over to his friend.

Walked. Not limped. Not hobbled, but walked.

His gait was still a little off, but for the moment, it seemed like the ketamine was working. His belly ached and his neck stung, but there was _nothing_ from his thigh. Well, there wasn't any pain. The missing muscle could never be replaced, but he was pain free.

He could have done back flips.

James Wilson walked towards him, taking in the picture. He had a clipboard in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. "So, no pain?" He lifted a thick fuzzy eyebrow, curious at what his friend was going to say.

"So far, so good," House grinned. "Got my walking papers?"

Wilson held up the chart in his right hand. "Thomas says you can go home, despite the fact he's still pissed that you conned Chase into doing some of your therapy for you." He shook his shaggy head. "You know that's why he kept you in for an extra week, right?"

House nodded, and he accepted the bag from Wilson, who turned around, giving him some privacy. House began to strip off the hospital tunic, and he toed off his shoes. "Cuddy approved that?" He pulled on the clean boxers from the bag, frowning, he sniffed the remainder of clothes from the bag. "_You_ did my laundry?_"_

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Cuddy's replacement from the board signed off. Tomas claimed you weren't healing as fast as was expected. She'll be back Monday, by the way, now that the inquiry's over. Apparently they only made her go on leave to make sure _she_ didn't have a meltdown."

"That and it's hospital procedure," House grunted, pulling up his jeans. Wilson turned around and gaped at him. "Don't act surprised," House grumbled, fastening his belt. "I have to know all the hospital policies to skirt around them all the time. Wilson blinked, lifting his eyebrows even higher. "Oh, come on," House huffed. "I've had a lot of time on my hands the past few days," he pouted slightly. "And Cuddy having a meltdown still doesn't explain the fact you did my laundry."

"I thought you'd want to know. About Cuddy," Wilson said quietly. "You _know_ she was going to take something like this hard. Someone coming in and shooting a doctor here was akin to someone shooting her." He ran his hand through his hair. "And there wasn't any clean clothes lying around in your apartment, and I was afraid to go through your dresser drawers. Not after what I found in the first one." He shuddered violently at the memory.

"There is nothing wrong with the naked female form," House defended himself. "Especially the young, barely legal, nubile, naked female form." He sat down on the edge of the treadmill, pulling on his socks. "I thought you of all people wouldn't question _that_ absolute truth."

"The naked female form doesn't disturb me," Wilson said defensively. "It was the sight of the naked female form spooned against..."

"Don't need the play by play," House broke in. "After all, it is my porn." He put his sneakers back on, lacing them tightly. He looked up and grinned at Wilson, then he stood up, stretching. "Got some forms for me to fill out? I'm ready to get the hell out of here."

"You sure you're doing okay?" Wilson was concerned. He'd spent every spare moment the past two weeks sitting by his friends bedside, bringing him food from their favorite Chinese place when House complained about the hospital food. He brought in books and medical journals when House complained about being bored. He was there to just shoot the shit when House complained period. He felt like their bond of brotherhood had grown tighter. It might have been wishful thinking, but he felt that if he were in a similar situation, House would be there for him.

The one thing that had changed since House had woken up is that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Cuddy anywhere near House's room. After being glued to his bedside while their friend was unconscious, Wilson noticed that that Cuddy had been inconspicuously absent after House had woken up. He was pretty sure that the rest of the hospital really hadn't noticed, especially since it seemed like Cuddy was more worried about a doctor who had been shot, rather than a friend.

"My stitches are out, and while my stomach and neck still hurt, my leg hasn't bothered me all week," House's almost cheery voice broke Wilson from his thoughts. "I think I'm gonna be okay." He gave Wilson a grin. "I'm ready to get the hell out of here," he repeated. "I hate this place," he snorted.

"Don't like being a patient?" Wilson asked, giving him a grin of his own. "I figured you'd be all about getting the nurses to wait on you hand and foot?" He walked with House down the hall, towards the exit.

House gave his friend a dirty look. "Of _course_ Cuddy assigned the ugliest, oldest nurses to this hall while I was recovering. He snorted, obviously not happy with that turn of events.

"Cuddy doesn't make the nursing assignments," Wilson commented mildy. "She just approves them. Nurse Previn handles all of those." He shrugged. "Besides, they put Cuddy on Administrative leave a day after you woke up."

"I was shot in the stomach and neck, not in the head. Last I checked, I didn't suffer any brain damage from the ordeal." He sneered at Wilson. "You don't have to keep repeating yourself."

Wilson held his hands up. "Sorry." He tried to keep it discreet, but he kept glancing at his friend's stride. There was a slight hitch in his step on his right side, but other than that, he showed no sign of pain or heavier limp. He couldn't believe that House's crazy scheme worked, but he was happy for his friend. House deserved a little happiness. "So, what are your plans for tonight?"

"A shower, then outrageous sex with a hot contortionist. It's been a while since I practiced any of the positions in the _Kama Sutra_."

"Yeah," Wilson commented dryly. "Just don't hurt yourself. We don't want you back in here for emergency hernia surgery. Especially after you just checked out."

House grinned. "It would be an awesome way to come back, though."

After a quick stop at the pharmacy to pick up a few scripts, they made their way to the parking lot. House looked forlornly at his bike, parked in the handicapped spot right in front of the building. Wilson gave him a small smile. "In a few weeks, once you're healed, you can come back and get it." House nodded, then returned his friend's smile. They headed to Wilson's car, and House slid into the passenger seat. "Does your car always smell like new car." He wrinkled his nose, as if offended by the odor.

"At least it doesn't smell like molding McDonald's wrappers," he shot back. "When's the last time your car was clean?"

House was quiet for a long moment. "When Stacy left," he said quietly, the jovial tone of their exchange extinguished. They drove to House's apartment in silence.

[H] [H] [H]

It was after dark when House finally made his way to Cuddy's house. Though he had kept his tone flippant with Wilson, he was still feeling after effects of being shot and hospitalized, and after his shower, he had fallen asleep on the sofa, drained and sore. The physical therapy that he was pushing himself to do was taking its toll on his already taxed body, and he still became easily wore out.

But he needed to see her, and the sooner the better.

After he had woken up and eaten, he headed over to her place, anxiety building in his gut. _It's just residual pain from the gunshot wound,_ he told himself, then snorted. Everyone lies.

He paused on her doorstep, uncertain whether or not he should knock. He pondered it for a few moments, seriously thinking about turning tail and running. He sucked on his cheek, then he bit the bullet, and he rapped on the door, hard. He waited a few seconds more, and he rapped harder, wishing he had his cane. The cane made a louder sound.

No one answered.

She had to be home. Her car was parked in the drive, and lights were on. He could hear the muffled sounds of what he thought was the television. He huffed to himself, then in a moment of insanity, he picked up the pot that hid her key, and he let himself in.

He prowled through the house, briefly looking in every room to surprise her. She wasn't in the living room or the kitchen, or in her home office. He made his way down the hall, and he made a note that the guest bathroom was dark, with the door open. He smiled smugly; that only left her bedroom.

The bedroom was lit up, and so was the master bath. The door to the bath was open, and he could hear soft jazz playing. The music was muffled by the sounds of the shower. He paused, falling backward on the bed. He folded his arms across his belly, and he stared up, trying to figure out what his next move should be. He thought of her, in the shower, and Little Greg immediately took interest. A quickie in the shower would have been nice, especially since the last time he'd had shower sex was before the infarction. Lust taking over his brain, he headed to the bathroom, shedding clothes.

She stood with her back to the glass door, and she was running her hands through her long hair. He watched, mesmerized by the way the glass distorted her shape, and he could make out her muscles tensing and flexing. Knowing he was probably going to be slapped, he stepped inside.

Water trickled down her body, and she made a little yelp as he opened the door. She whirled around, covering herself with one hand, shock and fear etched on her face. The fear was quickly replaced with anger and surprise. "House!" she cried, her chest heaving with the surge of adrenaline.

He tilted his head and looked at her, her ragged breathing doing really interesting things to her chest. "Hiya, Cuddy," he grinned. "I was bored and lonely. Figured you were up." He gestured at himself. "I am."

Her eyes locked on his erection, then they flickered back up to his. "You're a conceited ass," she sighed, tiredly. "And I'm not in the mood." She pressed her lips together tightly.

"Oh, god," he gasped. "You're pregnant."

He saw the hurt and shame in her eyes. "No," she whispered, harshly.

He tilted his head to one side. He licked his lips. "Wilson said you were having a minor breakdown. He figured that it was over me being shot, but it wasn't was it." At her dark look, he amended himself. "My being shot was just a small part of it." He lowered his voice into a soft whisper. "It's because you didn't get knocked up right away." She didn't answer, but he had known her long enough to know when he had hit a truth. "You really didn't think you were going to get pregnant right away?" he said cautiously. "You of all people should know the odds..."

"The odds suck," she shivered underneath the hot water. She wiped her hand across her eyes. "I know, I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, but I was two days late."

He bit his lip, seeing how depressed she was, how she thought she was going to achieve her dream, only to have it jerked away from her. Fate had cruelly teased her. He could understand that, and he moved to her, wrapping his arms around her slick body, and he pulled her to him. At first, she resisted, but after a few tense seconds, she melted into his embrace. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and his hands caressed her soothingly. "Look on the bright side," he whispered against her skin. "This gives us another month of insanely hot and crazy sex." He nuzzled her, the growth of his beard scratching the soft skin of her cheek..

She froze in his arms. While she couldn't complain about the sex she had been having with him, he wasn't exactly a tender lover. Oh, he always made sure she came, usually once or twice, but _nuzzling _her, that hadn't happened before. Neither had the tight embrace he held her in. It was...nice. Odd, but nice. It was a feeling she could get used to.

She nodded against him, feeling the thrumming beat of his heart against her hand. "Okay, big guy. You're on."

He returned her small smile, then he kissed her temple again. "Cool." He pulled away slightly, taking in her body. "This should be fun," he grinned, then stepped out of the shower. She pulled a towel from the rack, and she wrapped it around herself, preparing to follow him to her bedroom, but not before closing her eyes.

She wasn't a very religious person, but still, she said a little prayer to whatever being was listening, hoping that this would work.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

_**~ Rude Awakening ~**_

Cuddy was comfortable, and she didn't want to give up her grasp on sleep. She had been back to work for a week, and while that usually was a cause for sleepless nights and sudden bouts of insomnia, this week, it was a welcome respite from the cloud of her personal life that hung over her head. The cloud of one man that had suddenly invaded her life with renewed vigor. If he kept it up, one of them would be dead, and the other in jail for murder.

At the moment, it was her that was going to jail.

She had a late night, formatting a proposal for raising money to remodel the cardiology floor, which had suffered some damage the previous spring due to water damage from a minor fire from the floor above it. She wasn't going to get a lot of sleep that night anyway, so when she felt the empty side of her bed sink down, she immediately questioned herself on why she didn't keep a weapon under her mattress.

"Cuddy," he blew lightly on her ear. She was plastered to the mattress on her stomach, her arms folded above her head. When she didn't respond, she felt him scoot closer to her. She tried to keep her breathing slow and regular, but he saw right through that. "I know you're awake." He blew on her ear again, and she had to suppress a shudder. "Fine. Ignore me." He ran a big hand down her back and over her bottom, which was exposed since her nightgown had ridden up to her waist. She had thought the blanket wound have provided cover, so he wouldn't notice that, but he had just pulled the blanket back enough to slip his hand underneath it. "No underwear?" She could hear the smug smirk in the bastard's voice. "You don't wear underwear unless you think you're gonna get some _some_."

"Go. Away." She groaned into her pillow. "I spent the entire night trying to find ways to pay for cleaning up one of your messes."

"You're not going to get pregnant by not having sex," he addressed her like he was addressing a toddler. "So, wakey wakey."

"You're not waking me up for sex," she still spoke into her pillow, not moving. "You want to drag me to god knows where on a too fucking early run."

"Wanna put twenty on that?" Without opening her eyes, she raised an eyebrow. She heard a rustling of clothes, then she nearly squealed when he pulled the comfort back, exposing her backside to the cool, summer night air. She felt the bed move as he maneuvered himself over her, sliding his big hands inside her thighs, lightly spreading them. She did squeal when she felt him toy with the soft fur between her legs. "It's been a long time since I've rode doggie," he whispered hoarsely. He slid a long finger inside her. "Wet already? Someone was having erotic dreams about me." He leaned over her, planting wet kisses along the nape of her neck.

"Not that I'd admit," she wriggled underneath his touch, feeling that familiar flare of arousal coursing through her body.

"I think you just did," he teased, increasing his pace. While one hand continued to stimulate her, he used the other to encourage her to rise up on her knees and elbows, which she did, finally opening her eyes.

The room was still dark; he hadn't turned on any of the lights, but the curtains were open, allowing the soft glow of the white streetlight to illuminate the room. His lips still caressed her neck, lightly nipping at the soft skin, while his free hand moved up to palm her breast. "Come for me, Cuddy," he whispered, and she responded, riding his hand as she whimpered with the pleasure. She cried out into her pillow, feeling the orgasm rock through her body in hot waves.

She felt herself go limp, stars still dancing behind her eyes. "Oh, no, no, no." He removed his hand from her, and she immediately felt the cold emptiness. He guided her back up to her knees and elbows, his mouth still pressing soft kisses all over her neck and shoulders. She felt the hot prod of his erection into her hip. "We're not done, sweetheart." He positioned himself behind her, working to find the right balance. While the pain was gone, he was still missing a hunk of muscle from his thigh, and balance was still an issue at times. When he found it, he massaged her mound again, making her wet again. "God, I love how wet you get," he breathed.

She took a deep breath, moving against hist palm again. He quickly moved his hand, placing it on the sheet next to hers. With a hoarse grunt, he thrust forward, and her tight little box took him in. Her breath escaped her lungs. He was big, oh so big, and she wasn't used taking him in this position. She could feel every inch and contour of him as her walls shifted to accommodate him further. "Holy hell, Cuddy," he breathed, lightly pressing his forehead to her shoulder. She smiled a little, hearing the praise in his sex-husky voice. She pressed back against him, driving him forward, causing fire to spread to every part of her body from her womb.

He dug his fingers into her hip. "Don't. Do. That."

She smirked a little. "What?" she asked, innocently. "This?" She did it again, and the fire rose again. Sex with House had awoken a dragon that lay dormant in the confines of her womb, and with every touch and thrust, it woke up. The heat caused her skin to glisten with sweat, and little moans escaped her mouth, encouraging him further.

He growled, dragging himself slowly out of her tight squeeze, then he thrust back, hard, causing a little squeal to escape her lips. "You asked for it," he growled, closing his eyes as he drove himself closer to the edge.

The edge that she clung to by her fingernails, but couldn't go over. She was _there_, pushing back against his every thrust, her tight walls sending sensations of heat to her very fingertips, but she couldn't give into that fire. Tears sprung to her eyes with frustration and lust, and her hands fisted the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

He must have been reading her thoughts. He grabbed the hand that rested near his, and, grunting, he rebalanced himself quickly. Groans were his only words as his guided her hand to where they were joined, and together, they rubbed the sensitive nub.

She tossed her head back and she howled her release to the night, feeling the dragon burst into flames that coursed through her veins. She felt her walls contract hard around him, milking him. He cried his own incoherent shout of triumph, and she felt him pulse thickly inside her. They both crashed down to the mattress, spent. Lost in the gray world of afterglow, she felt him interlace his fingers with hers. She smiled a weary smile, then she succumbed to the drowsiness that had been wanting to over take her.

Right before she felt sleep over take her, she heard his soft voice murmur against her glistening skin. "Thank you."

[H] [H] [H]

"When's House coming back?" Cuddy looked wearily up from her paperwork to see Cameron staring at her from her office door. She wanted to yawn and rub her eyes, but she couldn't do that in front of her employees. Okay, she could only do that in front of House and Wilson, but they had transcended their relationship from mere employees to that of friends. And, in House's case, they had long ago become something..._other_.

So, she feigned alertness, and she smiled at the young doctor. "Well, according to Personnel, he took the full eight weeks of personal leave that was offered." She quickly calculated the date in her mind. "So, he should be back at mid-September."

Cameron nodded. "Did they ever catch the guy?"

Cuddy shook her head, her smile slipping. "The Princeton-Plainsboro Police Department have the security footage of the guy, but they've never been able to find him." She frowned fully in thought. "They keep telling me that the investigation is open, and that they'd be contacting the hospital as soon as they found anything." She rubbed her forehead. "The Board has had clerks pouring through House's records, trying to see if they can't find the person responsible in there, since he claimed to be a patient." She sighed. "But, since he was a patient before House hired you..." she trailed off, bitterly. Once House got back, they were going to have a long talk about record keeping. Not that he would listen, but it would make _her_ feel better.

Cameron blushed, then nodded. Cuddy looked at her closely. "Is Dr. Walker treating you well in immunology? I thought you all would enjoying a break from House. Foreman's doing well under Dr. Newman in Neurology, and Chase said he's really enjoying working with Carter in the surgical staff." Cuddy may have been referred to as the Dragon Doctor amongst the staff, but she tried really hard to listen to her staff's complaints and comments. She _wanted_ them to be doing well, because if her staff was doing well, the hospital was doing well.

It was good business, all around.

Cameron shrugged. "I guess." She bit her lip. "It's just...not _challenging_."

Cuddy allowed herself to smirk a little. "Been bitten by the House bug, haven't you?" Cameron nodded, and Cuddy gave her a genuine smile. "Well, if he stays out the full eight weeks, which, let's face it, he'll take full advantage of it, he's still got six more weeks out. She pulled up the personnel openings up on her computer, and she frowned. "If you're not happy in immunology, which it looks like Walker is overstaffed, there's always the E.R." She gave Cameron a grin. "It's not diagnosing rare cases, but it _is_ a challenge, and I'm sure Shirley would love to have an extra pair of hands." Cameron didn't say anything, so Cuddy shrugged. "Most of House's cases come out of the E.R. anyway, so I'm sure you'll be able to get your diagnostic groove on." She brought up a P.D.F. file on the computer, and she hit print. When they came up on her printer, she handed them to Cameron. "Give these to Riley in Personnel. They're transfer requisition forms."

Cameron looked relieved. "Thanks, Dr. Cuddy," she told her, then she left the office.

Cuddy spent the rest of the day putting out minor fires and putting the rest of her proposal together. The hospital had received the highest accreditation that a public hospital could achieve a few weeks before House's shooting. She hoped that _that_ fire had been put out by the numerous Board meetings and security changes. Poor Jenkins, the former head of security had been fired, but the donors needed a scape goat, and despite her best efforts, he had been it. She had been able to finagle a deal that said if he put in his resignation, rather than them out and out firing him, he'd get a small pension out of it. Part of that deal had included a gag clause. It had been the best she could do.

As much as she had liked Jenkins, who had been a kindly older gentleman, she also liked his replacement. Spencer Matthews was a tall, rugged former military man in his early forties, and the Board had been in full support of him taking the job of Head of Security. He was efficient and practical, but he was also...nice. He chatted with the doctors and nurses on his breaks, and he encouraged the other security employees to do the same, saying that if they knew who was supposed to be in the hospital, they would be better able at keeping those who shouldn't be there out.

At the end of the day, she was ready to go home. She stretched a little, working out the kinks in her lower back. It was a warm night, so she folded her jacket over her arm. Grabbing her bag, she walked out of the office, still a little sore from the sex Olympics that she had participated in that morning. Matthews was leaning against the nurses' station, chatting amiably with Nurse Previn's evening replacement. He looked up at her approaching. "Dr. Cuddy," he smiled, small dimples deepening in his rugged face. Dark stubble coated his cheeks and jaw, but his shaven head gleamed underneath the harsh lights of the hospital. He strode over to her, his stride loose, but confident. He held out a large hand, calloused from years of work. "I don't know if we've really had a chance to meet yet?" His bright blue eyes gleamed with genuine niceness mixed with curiosity.

She met his eyes with a wide smile of her own. "Lt. Matthews," she used his military rank. When they checked his background, he had been discharged with full honors. When they had asked him about it during his first meeting with the Board, he had cited a need to settle down in one place and raise a family, rather than skipping from city to city. Scuttlebutt among the nurses had said that the woman he had planned to settle down with had left him high and dry. Cuddy quickly glanced at his left hand, which was ringless. She took his hand, feeling the rough skin under her soft palm. "We met," she told him, "at your interviews."

He shrugged. "Those are job interviews, not actual conversation." He paused, breaking out into an easy grin, "though, you probably found out more about me then most people find out when they first meet." He shrugged. "And I don't know a damn thing about you."

She laughed, a little nervously. "Not that there's much to tell," she adjusted her bag. "I'm here from 7am – 6ish, then, I go home, and I do it all again the next day."

She took a step towards the doors, and he walked with her there. "Shift just ended," he explained. "You mind if I walk you to your car?"

She bit her lip. "I'm parked in the A-lot."

"Damn, I'm parked in the C-lot." He gave her another easy grin. "Good thing tonight's a good night for walking."

She found herself smiling back at him. "It _is_ a good night. I hope the cooler weather holds. I haven't been able to play tennis all week, and I finally have some time this weekend." She looked up at the sky, not that she could see much of it with all the light pollution, and she wrinkled her nose. "I just hope it doesn't rain."

"I hear that. I'm working with Habitat For Humanity on a house on the east side. It'd be nice if we can get the roof on before it rains."

"Are you for real?" Cuddy lifted her eyebrows. It seemed that all her years of associating with House had made her suspicious of anyone that was too nice.

He barked out a deep laugh. "Last I checked." They paused, reaching her car. "I can see that you're a no-nonsense kind of lady, and you don't hold to bullshit, pardon my french, ma'am. So let me be blunt," he paused, letting her respond to her words. When all she did was tilt her head slightly to the side while lifting up a finely arched eyebrow, he continued. "You seemed awful nice during the interviews. I was wondering if I could take you out to lunch sometime, just to get to know you better. You seem...interesting."

If she hadn't kept her jaw clenched tight, it would have dropped. Two months ago, she would have jumped a man like Matthews in a heartbeat, but now... She inwardly sighed; it was complicated.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Matthews. I'm...sort of involved...with someone right now."

His face fell a little. "I understand. I had heard you were single, guess I heard wrong." He gave her a grin. "No sense in wishful thinking, but I'd like to be friends, if that's alright with you?"

She smiled back. "I'll see you around the hospital," she evaded his question. "Thanks for walking me to my car."

"Pleasure was all mine," he drawled. If he had been wearing a hat, she knew he would have tipped it. She gave him a small smile back, then she climbed into her car.

She decided that she had enough complications in her life, and she felt a little sad for it. So she drove home, listening to a mournful singer belt out a song about lost love on the radio, wondering if it was all worth it.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

_**Kiss of Death**_

House was scared.

He'd been many things in his life, hurt, angry, confident, arrogant, but scared was never an adjective that could be readily used to describe him. Now, it seemed appropriate.

At the moment, life was as good as it had been in nearly a decade. He was almost whole again, and nearly pain free. He could stand upright with out being crippled with pain. He didn't need a cane to take the pressure off his leg. He could run. Hell, he could even fuck his hot girlfriend without worrying about his leg giving out halfway through the act.

Hot girlfriend?

He set the bourbon glass down on the dusty piano top. He chewed on a piece of ice, wondering. Was she really his girlfriend. Sure, they fucked like rabbits, but that was because of their little deal.

_It's more than a deal, and you know that well,_ his own mind told him as he stared blankly at the sheet music in front of him. _It was more than a deal from the moment you first walked into her home._

"I don't want to be a dad," he said out loud, answering his mind in his empty apartment.

_Tough, _his mind answered him. _It's a part of the package. You want Lisa Cuddy, you get it all, even her desire to be a mom._

"I'm a drug addict," he toyed with the keys, playing a random tune. _Three Blind Mice_. The first piece his mother made him learn as a kid. He remembered the three notes well, and a ghost of a smile floated across his face as he played them one-handed. He remembered squirming at the piano, not really wanting to learn, but in her gentle, yet passive-aggressive way, his mother had coaxed him to play those three little notes in the right time, teaching him the lyrics with the music. He had actually been proud of himself, as proud as a three year old could be, for learning that little song.

Until his dad had come home.

His features became sour and stern. One of his first memories, and it was of his father being an abusive jerk. His eyes darkened, and his mouth formed a thin line. His skin paled, and grew clammy at the painful memory. He closed his eyes. He wouldn't inflict that on a kid.

He hoped that Cuddy wouldn't conceive, and eventually, she would give up. He would help her on her way, but it was his secret wish. People like them shouldn't have kids. Parents just screwed up their kids, no matter how nice they were. He'd met her parents, perfectly nice people who had turned their oldest daughter into a career obsessed control freak.

He squirmed a little on the bench, uncomfortable with the memories, and with the present. He darted out his hand, and he quickly downed the rest of the bourbon. What the hell was he thinking. Better yet, what the hell was _she_ thinking, bringing the spawn of Satan into the world. This was a huge mistake. It had been a mistake from the get-go, and yet, he couldn't pull himself away.

He rubbed at his thigh, not out of relaxing what was left of the muscle, but out of habit. It had been six weeks since he had been shot, four weeks since they released him from the hospital. He had physical therapy three times a week, and so far, was blowing everyone's expectations out of the water. Of course, they had been trying to help him recover from a couple of gunshot wounds, not healing his leg. The ketamine had been working. He hadn't even had a twinge of...

_Four weeks_. He froze, his head shooting up, and his eyes were staring forward, but weren't focused on anything. _Six weeks since..._

"Damn it!" he cursed, jumping up from the piano bench so abruptly it tipped over. He didn't even hear the crash as he grabbed his keys. He was out the door less than a minute later.

He had business to attend to.

[H] [H] [H]

When he knocked on her door, the sun was just beginning to set. She answered, wearing an old, oversized burgundy sweatshirt, and a pair of worn, black yoga pants. Her eyes had dark circles around them, and she wore a tired look of irritation on her face. "I know you haven't had a go on my joy stick in a couple of days," he gave her a lascivious grin, "but we can just un-pause the game." He winked.

She didn't laugh. "What do you want, House?" she asked, bluntly.

His brow creased with thought at her flat tone. "Since we're being forthright..." She snorted, and he gave her a dirty look. "Are you pregnant."

She sighed. "I think you know the answer to that." He kept his features still, and he waited patiently, knowing that she would get fed up with the silence. He was right, and she sighed. "No."

"How late were you this time," he asked, his voice softening a tiny bit.

Her mouth drew up into a thin line, then she slumped. "Five days." She closed her eyes, and he watched her throat bobble as she swallowed. "Five fucking days of hope." She raked her fingernails through her hair, the gesture filled with nervousness and frustration. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "How did you know."

He shrugged. "Did the math. It was about that time." He stared at her, her small figure wrapped in the oversized sweatshirt. Her gray eyes listless and rimmed with deep, dark circles. She didn't wear any make up, but instead of detracting from her beauty, it added to it, making her edges sharper, more striking. She looked frail and cold.

She looked up at him, expecting something. Probably him to say something acidic and bitter, probing her hurt. And nine times out of ten, he would have, but she just looked so defeated. He shifted, uncomfortable. "Get dressed," he told her gruffly.

"I _am_ dressed." It was her turn to give him a _duh_ look. She leaned against the doorway, waiting.

He gave her a small smirk. "Dressed to wear something out. I could use a drink, and it looks like you could, too."

"Like a date?" she returned his smirk, her tone a little incredulous.

"Except, without the date part. Just two adults who happen to know each other from work going out for a drink or two." He paused, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling. "Or ten," he grinned.

She nodded. "Give me ten minutes." She opened the door wider, and she let him in. She headed to her bedroom, leaving him to wander the house, alone. He picked through some paperwork she had laying on the coffee table, lifting an eyebrow when he saw the legal department's budget projections for next quarter. Usually, that kind of stuff held no appeal for him, but he couldn't help feeling a deep sense of pride when he saw that he was given his own separate budget for legal costs. He scratched idly at the back of his head, grinning a bit. He personally wracked up more legal costs than any other _department_. Go Team House!

He glanced around the rest of the living room, and he spotted a stack of medical journals on an end table. He picked through them, then he flopped down on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, reading the magazine while he was waiting.

He became so engrossed in an article that he didn't notice her walk back into the room. She made a slight coughing sound, and he jerked his head up. She was dressed simply in dark blue jeans and a light gray blouse. Her hair had tied back, but the locks were already beginning to come loose. She had put on a little make-up, and she wore low heels.

He cleared his throat. "Kinda figured that when you said ten minutes you really meant a half an hour." He tossed the journal on the coffee table, then stood up, stretching a bit.

"Bite me," she told him, picking up her purse.

"Hey," he looked affronted. "That's my line." He gave her a little wink, then he walked to her, holding out his hand. "Keys," he demanded, gently. At her look, he shrugged. "My car won't make it to Trenton," he explained. "We can't exactly go out, here."

She gave him an odd look. "We've gone out for drinks after work before."

"Yeah, except I'm on medical leave, and we're not off work."

She nodded. "Trenton it is." She dug into her purse, and she handed him the keys. They drove in awkward silence. She stared at the window, watching the scenery pass. She squirmed in her seat. "Slow down," she complained. "You're going to get a ticket."

"Yes, Wilson," he snarked back. He did slow down, grumbling to himself as he did. "What's my team been up to? Are they scattered, divided and leaderless, or has Foreman taken charge as my usurper."

"Answer A," Cuddy gave him a look. "I put them in other departments around the hospital, just until you get back." She grinned a little. "Foreman chaffed at first, but after the fiasco last winter when we put him charge, we felt he wasn't quite ready to head your department, yet."

House grinned. "He drank the diagnostic Kool-Aid, then?"

Cuddy nodded. "He's working well with Newman, only because he knows he has to. He's a great neurologist, but he wants to be a diagnostician." She paused. "He wants to be you."

House snorted. "He doesn't have the mad people pleasing skills," he drew out the 's', "yet." He gave her a quick look as they pulled into a pothole covered parking lot. "Besides, have you told him I broke the mold? There are only about a dozen diagnosticians in the country, and of them, I'm the best."

"I know," she answered him dryly. "Although, unlike you, Foreman would go to all the seminars he would be invited to."

He got out of the car, slamming behind him. "I'm agoraphobic," he whined.

She scoffed. "No you're not. You're lazy and disagreeable, and despite the fact you love the sound of your own voice, you don't want to deal the added pressure of actually speaking professionally to a group of people." She paused. "Although, if we were to hold a seminar at PPTH, I bet I could get an influx of new donors..."

"Hell and no, Cuddy," he snorted. "Are you ever going to get tired of this argument?" He lead her into to a small, boxy building.

She gave the building a look. "What is this place?"

He gave her a wry grin. "One of the places I go to get away from your and Wilson's ever-present nagging. "Don't worry, it's not clothing optional, but if you want to go to a place with _those_ kind of rules..."

She rolled her eyes at him, then stepped towards the concrete building. They stepped inside the small building. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dark room, lit only with neon, and a few overhead florescent lights. There were a smattering of pool tables on one side of the room, and a bar running down the middle. The other side of the room held a small dance floor and a tiny stage.

House led her to the bar, and they both took a seat. The bartender, a hard looking thin woman with a ring through her nose took their orders. "No cane, Doc?" she asked, the ring threaded through her eyebrow wiggled as she raised it in question.

He shook his head. "No cane." The woman nodded, and served them their drinks, gin and tonic for Cuddy and a Bud Light for House. Southern rock blasted through the speakers as Lynard Skynard sang about Sweet Home Alabama. House caught her looking around at the beer memorabilia covered walls. "What do you think?"

She shook her head. "I haven't been to a place like this since college." The door opened, catching her attention, and a small group of leather and denim covered bikers swaggered in. "And I've never been to a biker bar. Ever." She downed her gin and tonic.

"Hey, Doc," one of the bikers hailed House from their place at the other end of the bar. "Trade in that scooter for a real bike, yet!" they teased him. "Don't see it parked out front."

"Nah, didn't take it," he called back.

"Ain't seen you around much."

House shrugged. "Been busy. Needed to get away from the grind."

"Hear that, brother." At that, the stereo music stopped, and a small rock band began to tune up on stage. The bikers fell silent, and they turned their attention to it.

Cuddy gave him a questioning look. "I get hell for riding a crotch rocket, instead of a Harley. If I wasn't such a people person, I would have gotten my ass kicked for it." He jerked his chin towards the bikers as he drank his beer. Sighing a little, he smiled. "I treated one of their members in the Clinic once a few years back. Removed a bullet after promising not to alert the authoriti...uh-oh." He grinned wickedly at her.

She sighed. "Go on. We'll talk about your disregard for certain rules and laws later." The bartender refilled her gin and tonic silently, before moving to get more bottles of beer for the bikers.

"Anyway, I was out riding one day," he had to raise his voice, as the band began to play loud country-rock, "and I found this place. It was quiet, sort of out of the way, and I ran into them here." He finished his beer, setting the empty bottle down on the heavily scarred bar top. The band ratcheted up their sound. "Wanna dance?" he asked, nonchalantly.

"Thought this wasn't a date?" Cuddy teased.

"It's not," he told her quickly. "It's just...I haven't danced in eight years. You were always a decent dancer..."

"Only because my mom made me take dance lessons since I was six," she scoffed. She downed her gin and tonic, then she hopped down off the stool. She held out her hand to him. "Let's go."

He grinned. "I hope you learned a two-step, because I don't think a waltz is going to cut it with this crowd." The Dean of Medicine so gracefully held up a thin, elegant hand, with the middle finger fully extended. He then took that hand, and they headed towards the small dance floor.

They danced and danced and danced. Slow songs, fast songs, it didn't matter. His hand found her hip, and hers stroked his shoulder. Every few songs, they stopped to catch their breath, and he switched from beer to soda. She switched from gin and tonics to beer. She was having such a good time, he knew she didn't want to leave.

"It's midnight," he whispered in her ear during a slow dance. Her head was perfectly nestled on his t-shirt covered chest.

"I don't wanna go," her voice was slightly slurred. Normally, he knew, she could hold her liquor, but she had been abstaining from alcohol since she had been trying to get pregnant. That and all the stress she had been under had tanked her tolerance.

"We got to, Lisa." The song ended, and he slowly disentangled himself from her. He brushed her hair, which was escaping her clip, out of her eyes. "Let's go."

She pouted a little, thrusting out a plump lower lip. "I don't wanna," she sighed, tiredly. "But I will." She rummaged through her purse. "Where's my keys?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"I've got 'em." He escorted her out of the bar, hearing wolf whistles from some of the bikers as he left. The thin, hard-eyed bartender gave him a dirty look, but she stayed silent. He guided her to her car, and watched as she slid heavily into the passenger seat. He got behind the wheel, and started the engine.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered about halfway back to her house. He glanced at her. "I...I don't usually drink like this," she stammered.

"You used to," he teased her. "Remember, back at Michigan, I had to practically carry you back to your dorm room after Jordan's party."

She blushed. "I was trying to get you to get into my pants," she admitted, the alcohol dissolving her better judgment. "But you said you wouldn't take advantage of drunk chicks."

"No," he corrected her. "I said I wouldn't take advantage of _you_ drunk."

"Why didn't you call me," she blurted out.

"I never called you," he said, trying to deflect having to explain a painful mistake.

"You said you would," she said bluntly.

He bit his lip. "Listen, you've had _way _too much to drink," he told her. "I'll answer any question you have about our past when I'm drunk, and you're sober, alright."

She snorted. "Everybody lies."

He bit his lip; he deserved that. "What did you think of Jessie?" At her blank look, he knew he'd have to explain further. "The bartender."

"She was...different," Cuddy said slowly.

"She's bi-curious, and she has a tongue stud," he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"You're disgusting," she oh-so maturely stuck her tongue out at him.

They pulled into her driveway, and he watched as she used up all of her will to not stumble out of the car and up the driveway. It took all of his will to not laugh at the sight of Lisa Cuddy drunk of her ass. He was pretty sure she hadn't been this drunk since college. He guided her inside, and she leaned against the table in the foyer, briefly closing her eyes. "I should go," he said, slowly.

"Why don't you kiss me?" she blurted out, opening her eyes again.

"I kiss you all the time," he was affronted.

She shook her head. "Not on the mouth. Not since we started fucking." He gaped at her. "It's okay to see me naked, but it's not okay to kiss me?"

He blinked. "Do you _want _me to kiss you?" She nodded, vigorously, and he licked his lips. He stepped closer to her, and he wrapped his arm around her back. He lowered his head to hers, and she closed her eyes as she approached. He felt her tense up as he grew closer, and he blew on her lips, causing her to gasp. He brushed his lips lightly across hers, sending little sensations of pleasure through him. He lightly pressed his lips to hers, putting just enough pressure to cause her to go rigid. They softly pressed and moved their lips together, trying to find the perfect angle. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, causing her to open her mouth up to him. At that, he drew back, quickly.

She opened up her eyes in surprise. "I need to go," he told her, his eyes wide. He gave her one last look, dumbstruck, then he left, leaving her to stare, stunned, after him.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

_**~ Road Trip ~**_

"When are you coming back to work?" Wilson folded his arms across his chest, watching his friend toss some clothes into a pack pack. "And where are you going?" His brows knitted in concern.

"Already talked to my physical therapist." he grumbled, tossing a few books in the pack. "I'm cleared to take off for the weekend." He frowned, then he headed to his bathroom. "I'm just taking advantage of Labor Day weekend," he called, grabbing some deodorant. He looked at the soap and shampoo in his shower, but he was pretty sure that even a cheap hotel would provide those. "Just going to the beach," he smiled slightly. "Since I can."

Wilson gave him a dirty look. "Lucky you," he sighed. "Some of us are on call all weekend." He watched as his friend shoved a couple of pairs of boxers and socks into the pack, nearly filling it to capacity. "So, when are you coming back?"

"Two weeks," came the blunt reply. "Standard hospital medical leave for recuperation of a gunshot wound is eight weeks." He stood up, rapidly glancing around the room, making sure that there was nothing he was forgetting.

"But you could have come back this week?" Wilson raised his eyebrows, and he leaned against the door frame.

House moved quickly across the room. There was still a slight hitch in his step, but there was no sign of pain or of an aggravated limp. Wilson watched as he put his acoustic guitar into a hard shell case. "I could have," House answered him, his voice tinged with irritation. "But, I don't have to." He looked up at his friend. "Why go back to work, when I can sit on my ass for two more weeks, and get paid for it?" He gave Wilson a wicked grin.

Wilson sighed. "You're evil."

"How does that make me evil?" House snapped the clips on the guitar case shut. "I've done many more eviler things, you know. Like what I did to that dude that got me kicked out of Hopkins for cheating?"

Wilson sighed. Weber?" He picked up the pack, and House guided him to his old car. Well, you did get a migraine out of it, _and_ you saved that kid..."

House popped the trunk, and he put his guitar case in the back. "I am that awesome," he grinned. He took the pack out of Wilson's hands. "Now, for a few days of sun and surf," he felt like he was walking on air. He always enjoyed the ocean; it was why he liked living so close to the coast. Not that he enjoyed it much after the infarction, but now, he could go and enjoy the smell of salt in the air, and he could listen to the sound of the surf as it lapped at the beach. That, and there would be tones of smokin' hot babes running around.

But he was only concerned about one babe in particular.

"Where are you headed?" Wilson closed the trunk, and he watched he friend toss the pack into the backseat.

"The beach," came the short answer. House stretched, then slid into his driver's seat.

Wilson put his hands on top of the car. "Have fun," he told his friend sincerely. It was great to see his friend happy, and if three days at the beach was going to make his friend happy, then he deserved it.

House nodded, putting on a pair of sunglasses. "Where's Cuddy headed this fine weathered weekend?" he asked, nonchalantly. "Spending the weekend with her folks in Newport?"

Wilson nodded. "I guess her dad's health's taken a turn." House turned his head sharply, and he looked at Wilson over the rims of his dark sunglasses. "She came to me for a consult," he explained. "Prostate cancer, but it was found early. Good prognosis."

House kept his face impassive, but he felt the gears of his mind turn. "Well, he's being treated by the best.. I'm sure she'll get over it."

Wilson gave him a dark look. "You really are an ass."

House's response was to turn the key, starting the car, then pulling out onto the road, making Wilson jump back.

He had somewhere to go, and fast.

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy was on the phone with her mom. "I'm sorry," she pleaded. "It's just, there's a medical conference in Pittsburgh, and the hospital really wants me go to go." She paused, wishing phones still had cords, so she could have something to play with. "I know, Dad's sick, but Julie just told me that the prognosis was good, and Wilson, our head oncologist confirmed it." She bit her lip as her mother went on. "Yes, he's that handsome doctor you met at that conference in Providence. No! I'm not going to date him; he's going through his third divorce. No, she cheated on him. Mom!" she could cry; she was so exasperated. "I was just up a week ago, and Dad looked fine. Has he relapsed? No? Then I'm going to the conference. I'll make up for it by being there for Thanksgiving. Yes, I'll show up to a family holiday. Okay, I'll talk to you later, okay. I'll have my cell phone with me. You have the number for that, right? Okay. I love you, too. And you have a good weekend, too, Mom. 'Bye." She hung the phone up on the wall, and she sighed, exhausted by the phone call.

"Your dad has cancer?"

She jerked, but she had become used to House sneaking up on her. "Yeah," she turned to face him, and, in her worried state, the sight of him made her nearly laugh. He looked like Magnum P.I., in his jeans, vibrant red button down shirt with the white palm pattern, and dark sunglasses.

He stared at her with those piercing ice blue eyes, x-raying her. "You should spend the weekend with him," he said in a monotone. "You should be with your family."

There was an odd note in his voice, and she couldn't quite place what it was. "I was just there last weekend. It's where I took off to, remember." She hadn't given him much notice about it, and she had been upset with her family for withholding nearly four months of his treatment from her, all because her mom hadn't wanted to worry her. If it wasn't for the fact she was getting ready to ovulate, she would have gone and spent the weekend with them, but as it was, her desire to try and get pregnant for a third month won out. Time was ticking off the clock, and her father was doing very well on his treatments. She planned another surprise visit in a week.

He nodded. "You sure?"

She gave him a rare genuine smile. "Yes, I'm sure. You've been very secretive about this."

He shrugged, a short twitch of his shoulders. "I wanted to get away. Thought you'd like to come, too." She wanted to sigh, but she held it in. They had been walking on eggshells for two weeks since he had whisked her away that biker bar. Since they had kissed that dark night, in her foyer. Neither of them had mentioned it, but their relationship had changed. It was scary, since neither of them liked change. The status quo was much more comfortable, much easier to deal with. They both pretended that it was intact.

But they had kissed. A lot. There were no meet-at-the-door sweet pecks. Their kisses were hard, wet, and passionate. All their frustration with each other, with their lives, with their screwed up relationship were in those kisses.

And the sex afterward was mind blowing, but, they denied this fragile thing that they both felt growing between them. They denied it's existence; it was easier that way, on both of them. That way, when whatever this was ended, it wouldn't hurt either of them.

Everybody lies, and they had perfected that art.

"You ready?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.

She nodded, and she picked up her own bag. "Where are we headed?" she asked, curiosity teeming in her mind. He had been so secretive since he had asked her to spend the weekend with him a few days ago, and that had nearly drove her insane. She went over every detail of every interaction that they had had since, trying to figure out where he was taking her. She had no doubt about his attentions; he had made it clear as saline that this was about sex, but at the same time it was more. After all, they could easily have sex in her house all weekend.

He put her bag in the back of his car, and the pulled out onto the road. They left Princeton, and they headed to Trenton. Her eyebrows shot up. "What are we doing in Trenton?"

He answered her with a grunt, as he prowled the streets. He made a few lefts, then he drove into an industrial part of the city. They came up on a salvage lot, and he pulled into the gravel lot. He parked, and he unbuckled his seat belt. She moved to do the same, but he gave her a look. "Stay in the car," he growled, and he got out, slamming the door behind him.

She sat in the front seat, fuming. She didn't like being told what to do, and he had just pushed her biggest button. _She_ was the boss, not him. She picked at her thumbnail, scowling to herself, then, after several minutes, she got out of the car, and she stormed towards the building.

He was coming out with a short, disheveled man. She stormed up to him in a blaze of fury. "What the hell did you mean, 'stay in the car?'" she mocked his voice. "Did you really think I was going to stay in the car, while you were out here? How they hell do I know you're not out scoring drugs?" She scowled at him.

He gave her an unreadable expression, but his buddy lost his battle in keeping his poker face. His features twisted into a smirk. "You told me she was a spitfire, but I didn't believe you."

"Smart, and sexy as hell," he grinned at his friend.

"Why the hell are we here, House?" She put her hands on her hips, and she glared at him.

"Should we keep her in the dark for a little while more?" the other man asked, his voice teasing.

House studied her for a long moment. "Nah," he finally answered. "The longer we keep this from her, the angrier she'll get." He gave his friend a small, knowing smile. "I DO intend on getting laid this weekend, you know."

"House!" She felt her cheeks turn read, but his friend just laughed. "Need any help getting your stuff out of your car?"

"Nope, just two packs, and a guitar," he answered. He gave Cuddy a small grin. "Come on, your highness. Your chariot awaits."

"You're an ass," she muttered as she followed him behind the building. Junk cars filled the large empty space, but he walked over to one, covered in a dust cloth, and parked inside an open garage. He walked inside, and he began to pull the cloth off the car, which was a candy apple red '64 Corvette. Her jaw dropped. It was in pristine condition. "Is this..." she stared at him, her eyes wide, "is this the 'Vette that the Arnello brothers gave you, during their case?"

"It wasn't graft," he answered quickly. "And it would have been my life if I had given back. It was a gift, to make sure I stayed on the case, and to keep me in line, which only you can do, when I let you." His fingers brushed the polished exterior. He looked at her and grinned. "Thought you'd like to travel in style. He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid into the interior. The leather was soft and supple, and she realized that this had been restored beautifully. Everything looked original and new. It even smelled like a new car.

He slid in beside her, and he inserted the key. He turned the key, easing off the clutch, and giving it just a little bit of gas. He grinned. "It doesn't hurt to do this, anymore," he said softly. Her irritation with him vanished at those words. "With the pain, driving a stick sucked, with every shift, it was like shoving a knife into my leg," he continued, backing the car out of the garage. She was quiet as he drove around to the front of the building. "I didn't want to give it up," he continued, "but I couldn't really drive it around. So, I knew a guy, and he let me keep it here, for a nominal fee."

She stayed quiet, and he hopped out, transferring their bags in the small backseat. After he added the hard guitar case, the backseat was nearly packed. There was so many questions she wanted to ask him, but the words transfer easily from her mind to her mouth. Finally she sighed, giving up. "Where are we going?" she simply asked, when he got back into the car.

He gave her a knowing smirk. "To the beach," he said, simply, then started the car back up, and he pulled it out on to the open road, hoping to leave his cares and worries in Princeton for the weekend.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

_**Family Ties**_

They drove for hours with the top down. After the first twenty minutes, Cuddy gave up on trying to tame her wild curls, which were being whipped around by the fast moving air. The weather was nearly perfect, if not sultry, but the open top and the high speeds kept them pretty cool. They traveled south, skirting the coast, and they were making decent time. They entered Delaware, drove through Maryland, and, when they hit the Virginia border, they pulled into a diner off of the interstate. They'd been in the car five hours, and Cuddy's legs were weak and rubbery from sitting so long.

He apparently felt the same way, stretching out a bit as he stepped out of the car. "Sorry," he gave her a road weary grin. "The 'Vette's seats are comfortable; just not _that_ comfortable."

She returned his grin. "It's just fatigue from sitting so long. I'll get over it." She looked out, and she watched as the late evening sun hung just above the horizon. "It's after eight o'clock. I don't know where you're taking me, but I think we should stop soon. We left pretty late for this adventure you're taking me on."

He nodded, a short jerky motion, and they walked inside the wooden building. They could smell the french fries and fried fish on the air, ans she wrinkled up her nose in distaste. "Some of us like real food. I'm sure they have a salad you can pick at." She lifted her eyebrow at him as they were lead to a leather upholstered booth by a woman easily in her sixties.

"What do you want to drink, huns," she asked, her accent thick. She gave them a sweet smile, her gray hair put up in a messy bun.

"Water," Cuddy answered quickly. "With lemon."

The lady nodded. "An' you?"

"Do you serve bourbon?"

The waitress' smile faltered. "We don't serve alcohol here, honey."

"Coke then. The real stuff, none of that diet crap."

"Sure thing," She left them alone, and House immediately began playing with the sugar packets, which were conveniently placed in a basket on the booth's table. Cuddy picked up the menu, and she began browsing through it, not finding enough vegetarian dishes for her liking.

"So, what's the real reason you don't want see your dad this weekend, other than to have some killer sex with me." He looked up from his sugar packets to look at her dead on, and she squirmed beneath his gaze. "And some amino acids and protein wouldn't hurt you. It would probably aid your cause more than you realize," he informed her.

She sighed. "He's fine. There's no reason to worry," she bit her bottom lip a little, giving herself away. "And I'm not finding anything totally meat free on the menu anyway. Not even the salads."

"They have vegetarian lasagna," he commented. "Is seeing your sister that bad, that you don't even want to spend time with your dad while he's in treatment." He frowned at the look on her face. "I know how close you two were," he said.

Her reaction was interrupted by the waitress. "Here are your drinks," she informed them, setting the glasses on the scarred table top before plucking two straws from her apron pocket. "Are you both ready to order?"

Cuddy frowned at the menu, but House forged ahead. "Cowboy burger, no pickles, and, onion rings instead of french fries, extra well done."

"Uh-huh," she nodded, jotting his order down on her pad. "And you, hun?"

"Umm," Cuddy drew out. "House salad, could I get italian dressing on the side?," she said. The waitress nodded, and Cuddy continued to browse the menu, looking for something else. "Do you have any vegetarian soups?"

"Broccoli and cheddar," the waitress, who's name tag read "Alice", answered quickly.

"I guess I'll just have that," Cuddy said quickly.

"Alrighty," the waitress smiled. "I'll get your order in." She turned away, and she left them alone at the table.

House tore open one end of the straw, and instead of slipping the wrapper off, he put the open end to his lips, and he blew hard, sending the wrapper flying across the table, hitting Cuddy right between her breasts.

"Mature," she muttered, plucking the wrapper from her cleavage.

"Not my fault," he said quickly. "Your way low cut top was way too enticing." He put the straw in his soda, and he took a sip. "Now, while your cleavage is very interesting, the fact you're avoiding your sister is even more so."

Cuddy unwrapped her own straw, and she bobbed it in her ice water. "There's really nothing to it." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and she looked at him. Her body language was forced. "There's really nothing interesting about seeing a sister who will do everything in her power to shove how she's better than you in your face every time she's there." Angry bitterness resonated in her voice. Her eyes started to glisten slightly, but no tears fell. "That she succeeded where you failed, over and over again."

House was quiet for a moment. "She has three kids," he said quietly.

"She's the perfect soccer mom. She's always going on about how Suzie's in plays, and Micheal's excelling at sports, and how little Lacey's just so far advanced for her age." Cuddy's shoulder's slumped. "She's the perfect mom, always making it to her kids events, how she found the perfect man. How she's the pretty one, and that's gotten her farther than being the smart one." Cuddy fell silent, glowering at the glass in front of her as if she was seeing her sister's reflection in the ice filled water.

"You clearly have _no_ issues," he commented. She jerked her head up and glared at him. He returned her glare with a steady gaze. "You're giving up valuable time with your dad, because of self-esteem issues." He thought about it briefly. "Because she has everything you've always wanted, but didn't think you could have."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the damn smiling waitress came back, plunking a plate in front of House. His mouth watered at the sight of the burger and onion rings. She plunked down a large bowl of salad greens topped with sliced tomatoes, green peppers, onions, and cucumbers down on the table in front of her. A small cup of cream colored soup with chunks of green broccoli floating in it followed. "You need anything else?"

"Nope!" House smiled widely. It wasn't a friendly smile, Cuddy noted. It was the smile that she noticed the most when he was up to something.

"If you do, let me know." She put a bottle of ketchup on the table, then left me alone.

Cuddy frowned, then picked up the tiny bowl of dressing, pouring a small bit over the salad. "Well," she commented in a low voice. "What they lack in quality, they make up in quantity."

"She probably just looked at your size and thought you were grossly underfed," he grinned. "Hard to believe with those hips, right?"

She gave him a dirty look. "My hips are fine, House," she commented dryly, putting a forkful of lettuce in her mouth.

"Yeah, for childbirth." He watched her wince. "It's okay, Lisa," he said in a low voice. You've only been at this for two months, starting on your third. Give it time to take."

She put her fork down, suddenly not hungry. "What if it never takes. What if I wasted all this energy for _nothing_?"

He looked at her for a long time, then he put his hamburger down. "It's a good possibility," he told her, seriously. Her face fell. "It's something that you should definitely keep in the back of your mind, but that doesn't mean you quit when it gets too tough. There are other options." He pulled back. "I can't believe I said that." He eyed her. "I think Cameron's rubbing off on me, but, I don't know." He shook his head in disbelief.

She gave him a weak smile. "I still don't think you should have kids," he added, picking up his sandwich again.

"You keep saying that," she mumbled.

"Because it's the truth." He pursed his lips. "You're too wrapped up in your work to have time for a kid. They do take up a lot of your time, you know."

"I'm not stupid," she informed him, annoyed, then she sighed. "It's not like I have anything else going on in my life." She gave a dry laugh. "I couldn't even find a decent guy to marry, so I had to conscript my best and most screwed up employee to help knock me up."

He polished off his burger, belching lightly, then he grinned at her in response. "I'm happy to be conscripted. Little Greg's very happy, too." He paused, delving deeper in thought. "And when you find that personal life that you're longing for, how will you explain what's going on?"

She shook her head sadly. He didn't think he had ever seen her more defeated. "That's not going to happen," she told him, definitively.

He sighed. "Cuddy, you're smart, you're strong, and not having kids doesn't make you any less of a woman. Trust me," his eyes flickered to her cleavage. "Despite all my innuendo otherwise, you are one hell of a woman."

"You know, radiology _still_ has a pool going on about whether or not I'm a trannie. Thanks," her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

"No doubt put together by our pool extraordinaire, Chase." He paused, thoughtfully, while chewing on an onion ring. "You know, I have a theory that he was a bookie back in Britain."

She rolled her eyes. "He's from Australia, and as far as I know, he was never a bookie." She gave him a look. "Besides, you should know more than I do. After all, you conducted the interview.

"Interview?" His eyes widened in surprise. "I just took a phone call from his dad. He told me to hire his son, and I figured that anyone who's Daddy called to get him a job would make a great ass-kisser." At her dirty look, he grinned. "And I was right." He stuffed his last onion ring in his mouth, and he chewed triumphantly.

"You're an ass," she muttered.

He shrugged, then he grinned. "Let's get out of here, and find a hotel room. I'll show just what an ass I have, and I'll make damn sure you feel like a woman by the end of the night?"

She drummed her fingertips on the table top, then she gave him a wry smile. "You're on." He threw two tens on the table to cover the bill, then he reached over and grabbed her wrist. With a smug smile on his face, he led her out of the building, ready to prove to her that indeed, she was all woman.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

_**Scarred for Life  
**_

Sunlight tried to break through the thick curtains in the motel room they had spent the night in, but Cuddy instinctively knew that it was just after dawn. She stirred, stretching a little in bed, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in her bed. They had been having sex for months, but this was the first time they had actually literally slept together, in the same bed, since college.

She was curled up against his side, her head nestled against his shoulder. Her left leg was thrown over his hips, and her knee was gently brushing against his genitals. Her left hand was splayed out over his stomach. He was snoring softly, and surprisingly, she was turned on by the soft vibration of it she was feeling through her body.

She sat up slightly, trying to look at him in the dark room. Light found it's way in, working through the cracks around the heavy curtains. He looked much younger in sleep, the lines on his face seemed to disappear slightly. She had noticed that phenomenon several times after walking in on him asleep in various parts of the hospital and during his recovery after the gunshot wound. She studied his noble, aristocratic face, well worn and rugged. Each line was etched in the stone, and each line told a story; of that she was sure of. She noticed the small, circular scar on the side of his nose; a scar from a childhood battle of chicken pox. His nose was slightly crooked, probably from having been broken at one point in time or another. His nose was thin, as were his lips. She leaned in, and she gave him a feather-light kiss on those lips, smiling at the warmth she felt as she pressed her lips to them.

She pulled back quickly, and he only snorted softly in response. She watched as he sighed deeply in his sleep, turning his head slightly. His breathing became deep and regular again, and her eyes continued to drift down his body, counting the scars life had given him. There was the one on his neck from the gunshot wound, still red and raw. He didn't wear a bandage over it anymore, but it was still slightly scabbed, though the stitches had been removed weeks ago. She shuddered at that wound; he had nearly bled out on his way to the E.R., and he had only been four floors up. Wilson was right; he had been lucky to have been shot in the hospital.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and an involuntarily shudder wracked her body again. It was a too vivid reminder of what she had nearly lost that day, all because of a madman with a vendetta. House, as acerbic and cruel as he was, was still her best friend, though she didn't always treat him like one. The Game would have been over, and her world would have been less for it.

She didn't want to think about losing him.

She forced her eyes open, and she made herself focus on the here and now, specifically, the man sleeping naked next to her. Her gaze traveled down his broad chest. She had to force herself not to play with the wide, flat nipples, which were just begging to be touched, or to nestle her head against the soft patch of salt and pepper hair in the middle of his chest. Instead, she turned her gaze to the other new, raw battle scar on his abdomen. Ugly and raw, he was lucky it wasn't over large. In a few years, she doubted that anyone would notice it unless they were looking at it and knew what to look for. It was ugly now, but soon, it would fade away, a painful memory of the past.

She skipped over his well formed genitals, his penis having risen in its morning glory. She blushed lightly, slightly moving her knee, which was gently nudging his heavy testicles. She gave his thigh a brief glance, having seen it when it was fresh and new. The thick scar brought back even worse memories of let down for her, and she swallowed the thick wave of guilt that rose in her throat like bile.

At least, now, he didn't have to deal with the pain, though they were all holding the breaths, hoping that the treatment would hold.

She glanced back up at his still sleeping face, and a sly smile formed on her lips. Trying hard not to disturb him, she shift down between his legs, lowering her head to his half-engorged penis. True, it was only at half-mast, but that could change, and it could change fast. Her mouth was just the catalyst it needed to unfurl completely.

She barely suppressed a giggle, and she pulled away, studying it. She blew lightly on the head, trying to get a reaction from him. He groaned a little, shifting, but he never woke completely up. She planted a small kiss on the small slit, then she took the head into her mouth. She used one hand to stroke the shaft, while the other teased his sack. He groaned, a primal, gritty sound that rose from deep in his chest. She shifted, taking more and more of him in, relaxing her throat as he filled her mouth. She teased the soft hair that trailed down from his belly button as she licked the underside of him, feeling its suede-like texture with her tongue. She began to suck, tasting the precum that had formed from her ministrations.

She jumped a little when she felt a tingling pressure on her head. She opened her eyes, and she looked up, meeting his electric blue ones. She felt a smile form as he knotted his fingers in her curls, gently encouraging her on.

He watched as her hot, wet mouth bobbed up and down on his dick. His testicles tightened with sheer lust as her tongue flicked and lapped at him, drawing a groan from deep in his throat. He had been having a pleasant dream where she was giving him a blow job in his office, with the blinds open, where anyone could see; it was one of his secret fantasies, and fantasies were...well, fantasies.

It had been quite a surprise to wake up and see her lips wrapped around him tightly, giving him satisfaction. It was the most erotic scene he had ever seen that hadn't been in a dream.

It had been a long time since he had woken up next to another human being. He missed the warmth and the contact that sharing a bed with someone gave him. While waking up with someone nestled in his arms was good, this was infinitely better. He watched her slowly spread her legs a little, and, with one hand keeping balance on the bed, she slid the other down her body, then she began to explore herself, right in front of him. Damn, the woman was one hell of a multitasker, able to keep on expertly giving him head, while getting herself off. He felt another surge of pure desire course through his body, centered at his balls, and he knew he had to take control.

She felt him gently tug at her curls, and she looked up, slowly drawing back off of him. She instinctively knew what he wanted, and wordless, she planted a small kiss at the head. She knew she was ready for him, from her own ministrations. Her whole body tingling, she slid up his torso, and she captured his lips. He sucked lightly on her bottom lip, drawing her mouth open, then he initiated his assault, all the while guiding her hips to his. She smiled through their kiss, then she reached down herself, and guided him into her, groaning her pleasure into his mouth.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, and she began to lightly rock against him, drawing more moans. He pinched the nipples, and he finally tore his mouth away from hers to kiss her neck. She pulled back, adjusting herself enough so that he could take one of her nipples into his mouth, lightly biting it, then soothing it with a lick of his tongue.

She tossed her head back and she growled, a low note of sheer pleasure. He kept suckling her, feeling her rock harder against him, feeling the inevitable coming. He felt her nails claw at his chest, and he pulled away, only to have his mouth captured by hers again, her breathing ragged and her moans becoming louder and more urgent. He felt the fire-draped honeyed walls that was wrapped so tightly around his dick pulse around him, and he thrust up, hard, prolonging her wails of pleasure. Gripping her waist tightly, he flipped them over, so she was under him, and he was still inside her, thrusting hard. She threw her arms around his shoulders, urging him on as he pounded into her, sheer need taking over. Rolling waves of pleasure coursed through his belly and down through his toes, and he pulsed into her.

She felt him come, hot spurts that filled her womb, and she heard his incoherent cries of triumph echo to her ears. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, and she lightly stroked his broad shoulders, washed in a warm afterglow. He groaned a little, then rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling. They were both afraid to say anything, afraid the spell was going to be broken if they tried to define it. No, it was best to allow the moment to pass, but they both felt it.

They both felt that something intangible was there, with them, and by refusing to acknowledge it, it passed, leaving only empty silence.

[H] [H] [H]

They left their hotel around mid-morning, and they wound their way to the south. A little past 2pm, they hit their destination. They were on 158, traveling over Wright Memorial Bridge. "Where are we going?" she asked, suddenly interested in the large expanse of water from the sound they drove over.

"The Outer Banks," he gave her a grin. "I found a beach house near Nags Head for rent, for a very decent price for Labor Day weekend." He sighed, sagging against his seat. "I needed to get out of Princeton for a few days; a lot's happened, and I need to process it all before going back."

She gave him a wide-eyed look. She hadn't expected him to open up, but then again, she hadn't expected him to whisk her away to the windswept beaches of the Outer Banks, either. She settled back in her seat, and she enjoyed the view of the blueish green ocean, and the white clouds dotting the azure sky. The smell of salt and sea was heavy on the air. She could feel herself relaxing immediately.

They drove south down the length of the island, and she was lulled by the ride and the music that was softly playing from the radio. She closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, they were pulling into a driveway leading a weathered wood framed house. The vibrations of the gravel drive had woken her up. She rubbed at her eyes, and she studied the house. It had been repainted recently, but it already looked sandblasted. The beach was a hundred feet from the back door. He grinned when he saw her gaze. "That's why I picked this place, out of all the places for rent. Private beach."

_So no one has to look at your scar_. The answer came unbidden to her mind, but she didn't say it out loud. Even though he was pain free, the sullen, angry scar was still there, puckered and ugly. He wasn't a vain man, but she could understand that particular vanity. He hated for people to see the mark. The limp bothered him, but there wasn't anything he could do about it; the scar, he could hide.

There was a maroon sedan parked in the driveway, near the house. "Howdy, folks," a heavy set man with shaggy white hair and a thick beard greeted them as they climbed out of their car. "Got your voicemail, been waitin' for you," he grinned, his teeth slightly yellowed against the snow white of his beard. He wore cargo shorts and a blue and white patterned shirt that did nothing to hide his expanding waist line, but he carried himself like an old sailor, his skin tanned and weathered from sun and sea. When she shook his offered hand, she could feel the thick callouses on his large hand. "Let me show you the place."

House shook his head. "No need." He handed the man a check. "We just drove from Princeton. We'd just like some time to relax. Alone." He gave Cuddy a significant look, and she felt her cheeks turn hot.

The Hemingway look-a-like smiled. "Understood." He took the check and folded it, placing it in the breast pocket of his shirt. He handed a set of keys. "I live up the road. 224. Just drop 'em off when you leave. If I'm not home, I'm at the Salty Sea Dawg, sharin' stories. No hurricanes expected this weekend, so no need to board up, but if the winds change, I'll call you two before I come" He shook her hand again, and he gave her a knowing grin. "Nice to meet you folks, enjoy your honeymoon." He climbed into his car, and he drove down the gravel drive.

"_Honeymoon,_" she mouthed at him.

House sighed, "He knocked fifty percent off the rent for the weekend if it was for a honeymoon," he admitted.

"So you couldn't show up here alone," she put the pieces together. "You needed to bring a friend," she rolled her eyes. He started to protest, but she held a hand. "Let's get a look at this place, " she said, her tone resigned. She was used to his schemes, and she had known there was something behind him asking her to join him; she just didn't know what. He nodded, and they stepped inside. It wasn't very big, but it was homey. The largish living room stretched from the front door to the back deck, with a kitchen off to the right. The bathroom was next to the kitchen. A set of stairs led up to the second level, with a good sized master bedroom, with a small master bath, and a second small bedroom. There was a sliding glass door in the master bedroom that led to a small deck facing the ocean.

She opened that door, and she gazed out at the open water, the white caps of the waves rolling in a gentle rhythm to their destination. The smell of the sea hit her, and, to her, it wasn't unpleasant. She could smell the seaweed, the creatures of the ocean. She smiled.

She heard him come up behind her, and though she couldn't see, she knew he was gazing at the ocean, too. "I always liked the ocean," he said, his voice low, as if he didn't want to break her spell.

She nodded. "Me, too. Mom and Dad would take Julie and I to the beach nearly every weekend during the summer growing up." She smiled at the distant memories. "We took ourselves as soon as we were old enough and either had cars, or had friends with cars."

"Lost your virginity on the sand, too?" he asked, and she felt her cheeks color. "Not...quite," she paused, fighting herself on whether or not she should go on. He waited patiently in still silence. "Backseat of a car on the Boardwalk," she mumbled. He grinned, but their eyes never left the roiling water. The sea drew them to it like moths, and it calmed the savage ghosts that haunted them; the insecurities, and the responsibilities. It was a healing salve to mind and body.

It was a while later, but she felt him slid a hand around her waist, drawing her to him. They stood, locked in an embrace, his chin on her shoulder, while the cool sea breeze washed over them, ruffling their hair and clothes.

Then, his stomach growled. Loudly.

Her body shook with silent laughter, and he sneered at her, then her belly gave a rumble. He smirked, and she blushed. "I think that's our cue to get unpacked, and then get a bite to eat," she informed him.

"Huh-uh," he shook his head. "We go to that seafood shack we saw on the way here, then we come back, and you get us unpacked while I sleep." She gave him an incredulous look, and he smirked at her. "You slept most of the way here," he argued.

"I did not," she retorted, her eyes flickering with amusement and faux irritation. "I was just enjoying the ride. Besides, the smooth jazz you were listening to made me drowsy."

"Ah-ha, you _did _sleep," he grinned. "For lying, you buy dinner."

She opened her mouth to argue, then he pulled out a tiny tape recorder. Through the sounds of traffic and music, she could clearly hear herself snoring, softly. She turned bright red. "I have proof," he crowed, happily. "So for falling asleep on me, leaving all alone for the drive, you have to buy me dinner."

"Fine," she bit back. "Good thing you aren't planning to get laid this weekend. She turned on her heel and left the deck, wiggling her backside in an exaggerated manner in his direction. She could see his jaw drop in her mind as she kept her eyes forward.

She shouldn't have made that bet, that she wouldn't fall asleep in the car at all on the trip, but good thing she could use sex as her ace in the hole against losing it.

He grumbled to himself as she left the deck. Revenge was a bitch, and, he hoped, she knew that. Sighing, he plotted how he could turn the tables on her for their next go 'round.

And, dammit, she was buying him dinner, come hell or high water.

_**A/N-**_

_**Google maps and the internet are great tools, but I'm a land lubber from the midwest, and I've never been to the Outer Banks, though I'd love to go. Please forgive me if you're from there, and there are inconsistencies in what I write, and what's really there. This is fiction, and the specific place they're staying is only in my minds eye. I only use actual places as place references. Thanks alot, and I hope you're all enjoying this!  
**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_**~ Stars and Sand ~**_

The sand played havoc on his balance, but without the pain to accompany every shifting step, he could compensate. The pre-dawn air was cool, with the breeze flowing off the ocean surface, the day, however would warm, and the thick humidity would rise. Now was the best time to run on the sand.

The stars twinkled down in the velvet night, and the moon was his only light. His jog still had a hitch, but the ketamine couldn't do a damn thing about the missing hunk of muscle in his leg. At least, there was no pain. He could deal with a exaggerated stride, and the numb emptiness of the hole in his leg. But to walk, to jog, to _move_ again without a jolting, never ending pain surrounding every slight movement, it was more than he could have ever hope for.

_In. Out. Breath. In. Out. _He was still a little out of shape, from years of limited activity. He was also still recovering from the gunshot, and he tired easily, but he was an athlete. He had always been an athlete, and he knew how to push himself. _One step forward. One step forward._ He tried to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, but that proved to be next to impossible.

Ever since he was in Jr. High, he used running as a way to work out problems. He would feel like his mind would explode from the stress, so he took it out on his muscles instead. He had the world's problems figured out by the time he was fourteen. Too bad he couldn't figure out how to save himself from his own personal hell.

And it had been years since he had to do it with someone at his side.

He had awoken to an empty bed, and he had felt his heart hammer as he thought of the possibilities of where she had gone. He had tossed the covers back, and he went searching, finding her stretching on the back porch. His jaw had nearly dropped at her lycra shorts and white sports bra, glowing in the moonlight. She had on sneakers and white socks, and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had jumped at his abrupt appearance. "Sorry," she gave him an apologetic smile. "I couldn't sleep, so, I thought I'd go for a run," she explained. "Paperwork withdrawal, I think."

He took in her thin form, her muscles flexing. He had forgotten she was a runner, too. Where he had honed his skills on the lacrosse field, she had on the tennis courts, even playing briefly at the NCAA level. Like everything she did, she wanted to be the best, unfortunately, it got in the way of her medical ambitions, so she relegated her tennis career to a simple pastime.

He tilted his head at her. "Wait a second," he told her, and he went back upstairs. He ducked his head under the facet in the bathroom, soaking his head, hoping that it would wake him up a little more. He pulled on a pair of boxer-briefs, then his running shorts. A t-shirt went on, then his shoes and socks. He pulled his iPod out of his backpack, then he headed back downstairs.

She had waited on him, and she let him stretch, joining in with him. He watched her limber movements, and he was in awe. Every move was graceful and fluid. She moved with the skill and balance of a ballerina, only with larger breasts. He finished his own lumbering movements, stretching muscles and ligaments, finally ready to go.

He nearly stumbled out of the gate. As soon as his sneakered foot hit the sand, it shifted, knocking him off balance. He fought to correct the balance, and he took another step. She kept quiet, keeping her pace slow for him, waiting for him to get used to the sand and surf. It took a few yards of moving, but he finally got the hang of it.

She stayed by his side, a graceful Arab mare, built for beauty and speed, and he felt like a lame, lumbering mule, unworthy of her attentions and built for stubbornness. He clopped along off balance and not well coordinated on the sand, while she trotted beside him, her toned muscles allowing her to move with ease.

He glanced at her, taking in her body's smooth movements. His eyes became drawn to a certain part of her anatomy that jiggled with every step. The beach shifted from heavy sand to pebbles, and he stumbled on the transition. The beach extended to a rocky outcrop roughly two and a half miles away from the house they were staying in, and as they ran closer, the beach became rougher, more wild. Brush and driftwood dotted the landscape, creating dangers for him at every step.

"Breasts or ass," came her breathy voice after he regained his running rhythm. He gave her a quick glance, then panted slightly. "Breasts."

She grinned. "They do get in the way."

He snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure." He turned up the volume on his iPod, and he tried to clear his mind, which was impossible to do with her by his side. _Brown Eyed Girl_ came over the earbuds, and he zoned out, letting his mind work out what was going on with him. What had changed, and how that was going to affect him when they returned to Princeton.

It was a lot to think about, and a heavy weight settled on his shoulders.

They finally reached the end of the beach, and he was out of breath. She watched him as dropped to the ground, leaning against the one of the craggy rocks that bordered the small inlet. He sucked wind, his muscles tense and sweat dripping into his brow. "You're not going to have a heart attack on me, old man," she teased, sitting beside him, offering him a water bottle that she had carried with her.

"You're the one worried about her ovaries drying up before you have a chance to procreate," he panted, accepting the half-full plastic bottle. "I don't think you should be calling anyone old." She sat beside him, her eyes glittering in the waning moonlight. Dawn was still a good way off

"Tired?" she asked. "We can walk back."

He gave her a look. "I'm _fine_," he growled. "True, I'm not going to be running any marathons soon, but, I can handle a five mile round trip run." His eyes had long adjusted to the dark, and he he could make out the expression of disbelief on her face. "Here," he grabbed her waist and he pulled her on his lap. "Let me show you."

She squealed a little as he pulled her on to him, leaving her mouth open for his kisses. He cradled the back of her head with his hand, holding her in place for his assault. He ran his other palm over her exposed abdomen and around her ribs, brushing his fingers over her cloth covered breasts, eliciting a moan from her. Smiling to himself, he pushed up the fabric of her sports bra, exposing her breasts to the cool, seaside air.

She yelped and pulled away from him. "We can't do this," she panted. "Not out here, in the open."

He grinned at her embarrassment. "We're fine," he breathed, his lips inches from her own. "It's two in the morning, and there's no one around but us." He shifted her so she was straddling his thighs, his erection pressing into her core. "We're fine," he repeated, kissing her so deeply, she thought his tongue was halfway down her throat. His hand drifted from her head down her back and into her tight shorts. He tugged at them, slipping his hand to the front and in between her thighs, dipping his fingers into her honeyed core.

Her fingers curled around his t-shirt as he flickered his fingers inside of her, his thumb putting pressure on that secret nub. When he suddenly removed his fingers from her, she gasped out loud at the sudden emptiness. "Sorry, he mumbled against her mouth as he tugged at her shorts. "Gotta make this a quickie."

She purred with desire, and she helped him slid her shorts down her legs. She tugged his shorts and boxers down, freeing his turgid erection from their confines. Her nimble fingers stroked him lightly, before she settled her hips down, plunging him in in a rush of silk and fire. A primal groan escaped his throat, conveying pleasure and lust. His hand gripped her hips hard as he ground up into her, thrusting as well as he could. Her own ragged pants and groans matched his own as she gripped his shoulders tightly for balance as she rocked on his thrusting hips.

He finally slipped his hand between them, and, using his thumb, he strummed her nub until he felt her wall milk him fiercely, his own rush of pleasure pulsing from him. She cried her orgasm into his shirt, burying her head in his chest while her body was wracked with spasms. He gently stroked her spine, holding her tightly in the bright moonlight.

When they finally were able to compose themselves, they prepared for the trip back. "You wanna walk?" he teased. "You seem to be a little weak in the knees." He gave her a little wink for measure.

"I'm _fine_," she blushed, her lips crimping lightly, giving her away. "If you can make it, I can, too."

He stretched, hoping that sand hadn't found itself into his shorts during their brief encounter. If it had, he was going to be in for a long trip back. "Fine," he mimicked her. "Let's go, boss," he challenged her, and they set off down the beach together.

Their pace was slower as they jogged back down the starlight beach. The breeze off the water cooled their still smoldering skin as they made their way down the stretch of land. There were no lights other than the full moon, and the light was so bright that he could make out the landscape around them.

As he ran, he tried to make sense of all the mixed emotions running through his body. He was enjoying himself way too much, and, sadly, in his experience, good things only mean bad things were coming. He was never able to get comfortable when life was going smoothing. The last time he was happy, truly happy and content, the infarction screwed it all up and sent his life into a downward spiral of depression and drugs. He was barely scraping even, emotionally, when this turn of events had occurred, and now, he worried what his next misstep was going to be.

He had a strong feeling it was going to affect the woman jogging next to him, and it would drag her down with him.

They made their way down the lonely beach, the only sounds that they heard were the breeze rustling the brush that grew here and there, and the whisper of the waves hitting the sand. His mind kept showing him all the times he had screwed up in the past, and how miserable he was for it. It gave him glimpses of the future. A future where he was alone, and Cuddy hated him with a venomous hatred. His heart hammered, and he kept sneaking glances at her. Her face held nothing but concentration on the task at hand, and also the contented glow of happiness of a woman well laid.

They reached the beach house, and they stretched out on the back porch. "What were you thinking about?" Cuddy broke his brooding silence as she pulled off her sneakers and socks. "On the run back," she clarified at his puzzled look. "You kept looking at me like you were mourning something. She gave him a smugly satisfied grin. "I thought you enjoyed our quickie by the pier."

He took a few steps closer to her, kissing her lightly. He wrapped his arms around her, and he nuzzled her dark hair. "I was just thinking," he murmured to her, "that I was afraid that the ketamine treatment might wear off, and that I'd be left in pain again."

She stiffened in his arms, surprised by his sudden show of emotion and vulnerability. "Has there been any pain? Any stiffness?" she asked, stroking his chest.

"Not in my leg," he murmured, thinking that a certain other part of his body had been stiff quite a bit over the past few months, especially in her presence. He shook his head. "It's a constant worry, though."

She blushed at his innuendo. "You don't have to push yourself. Your recovery is going amazingly well."

"I know." He made his way back upstairs, with her trailing behind him. "I've been very lucky so far." _That's what scares me._ That part, he left unsaid, but he was sure she understood the thought, even though he wasn't thinking about his leg.

They stripped off their clothes, and they stepped into the shower, washing the sweat and sand off their bodies. He took his time, making sure she was thoroughly clean, and begging him for release. He enjoyed torturing her like this. He pressed her against the shower wall, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, admiring his strength and skill as he thrust inside her, fulfilling her every desire.

And hopefully, through him, she'd gain the one thing that had eluded her so far.

They made their way back to the bed, both feeling sluggish and sated. She curled up against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, and they both fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, listening to the sound of the ocean waves breaking on the beach, ignoring the sun peaking out over the seas.

**_A/N - for those of you who are also following Moving On, London Fog, and A Cold Winter's Eve - _**

**_I AM still writing those stories. On each of them, I have reached a point where I'm stuck. I know where I want to go with the story, but I've hit a rut, and don't know how to get them there. I AM continuing to work on them, even though I keep erasing what I've written. The stories are being stubborn, and not letting me go where I want with them. As soon as I get unstuck, I WILL post on them. I just wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten. In fact, this story was born out of frustration at not being able to move on those stories. So far, this one has been flowing with ease, so I've been able to post on it. _**

**_Anyway, thanks for following me, even when I get stuck! You and your reviews are helping me get through some stressful times. THANK YOU!1  
_**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

_**Don't Speak**_

The sky turned colors she didn't know existed. All shades of pink, highlighting the bottoms of the clouds in shades of salmon and rose. Purples and blues intermixed with the rose, orange, and yellow. It was a masterpiece of light and color, and the ocean reflected the pure gold light of the setting sun.

Cuddy nestled closer to him, a chill breeze blowing in off the ocean, even though it was September, and it was still hot from the day. Fall was coming, and the summer was drawing to a close. He had looped an arm loosely around her shoulders, but he was far from relaxed. In fact, he was drawn as tight as a piano wire, taut and vibrating with a nervous energy. He wasn't comfortable with her closeness; she understood that, but yet, he put up with it. _That_ was the surprising part.

His body was warm, and she tried to get even closer to him, a fact that he didn't ignore. "Anymore squirming," he rumbled darkly, "and you'll be in my lap." She could hear the smirk in his voice. "And we all know what happens next," he warned.

"Can you even get it up again?" she sighed, exasperated. "I'm saturated, you know."

"That's a good thing, right?" Though he tried to hide it, there was something smug and satisfying in his voice. He was proud of his sexual prowess.

She smiled. He was such an contradiction. He craved praise and adoration, but he would brush it off at the same time, as if he thought he was unworthy. He tried to act the ladies man, but she knew, from all those years ago, and watching him since, that he truly was a one-woman man, when he was in a relationship. His deals with working girls didn't count; they were distractions from the monsters of loneliness and misery that plagued the darkness.

She was pretty familiar with those monsters herself, but she didn't pay for services when she needed to fight them. The top drawer of her bedside nightstand held her array of distractions from the darkness that threatened to consume her in the bitter hours of the night, when the loneliness would almost become too much.

The past few months had been a welcome respite from battling those monsters. True, it wasn't the fulfillment of a traditional relationship, with the wining and dining, and the wait-and-see chess match, while both parties pretended to be what the other wanted while they tried to figure out who the other person really was. They both knew who they were, and what they were getting. It was actually kind of nice, even though she knew that she would never wake up to him like she did this weekend. She wouldn't trip over his casually discarded clothes in the morning; wouldn't come home to find him brooding on her sofa, or cooing over her child.

Her child. That's what this was all about. Three months in, and happy, for a change, she found that she had to remind herself what this was about. Her child.

She had always wanted to be a wife and mother. She couldn't really describe what drove her to that; if it was societal norms or just a natural maternal instinct. She had always felt that she had to push that dream to the back burner; it just never fit in with her ambitions, with her life-style. So she sat back, and she watched as her little sister lived her dream, though, the three divorces were never something Cuddy had wanted. Her sister was a good mother, she gave her credit for that, but it was so hard to watch as her sister had everything she had wanted, but was beginning to think she could never have.

"Stop it," his voice vibrated his chest, sending little chills through her spine. "Whatever you're brooding about, just stop it."

She was quiet for a while, watching the round sun turn the ocean gold, then orange, then red as it set behind them. They watched the water reflect the sun's light, then lightly lap at the sandy beach as the sky turned violet. She felt his fingers creep along her exposed skin. The day had been sultry, and she wore a navy bikini top, much to his delight, and a pair of short shorts. Her white sandals lay a few feet away from the blanket they were snuggled on, their backs against a small dune.

"I'm not brooding," she protested. "I'm...thinking about the hospital." She pouted a little. "I hope it's in one piece," she mumbled into his chest.

"I'm sure it is," he rolled his eyes. "Relax," he shifted slightly. "We go back tomorrow."

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I know," she mumbled, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin on her lips. She began to kiss at his bare chest, planting soft kisses on the soft chest hair. "That's what I'm worried about." She felt him freeze underneath her, and she continued her kisses up his neck, feeling his thick, strong pulse in the artery underneath her lips. "I wish we could stay hear forever," she whispered in his ear, lightly biting at his earlobe. "Away from it all."

"We could," he admitted, pulling at her bikini string, letting the scrap of cloth fall away. The sky was still light, and the sun was just resting on the horizon behind them, but she didn't feel self conscious. Not this time. She slipped her leg over his, and she felt him stroke the smooth skin. She loved the feel of his calloused fingers dancing their way up and down her leg. "We could stay here," he breathed, turning his head towards her face, his eyes closed. "We could be beach bums, and just live out our days like that salty old man that rented this place to me. His hand moved up, and he cupped her breasts lightly, feeling how they filled his large hands. His lips met her lightly. "We could buy a houseboat, and just live on the water, and never have to go back.

Her eyes were closed, and she was pretty sure his were. They kissed softly in the waning light, then, the realization of what he was offering hit her. A life, on the ocean, just them. No hospital. No responsibilities. Just them. Every muscle in her body stiffened, and her eyes flew open. She met his baby blues, which were crystal clear and bright. His lips were so close to hers, and his hands were on her ribs. She could feel the soft pressure that he put on her sides, holding her in place. Her senses became heightened, and she could hear their soft breathing, feel his hot breath on her lips. He was waiting for her answer.

He was serious. The lump became even bigger. He was serious, and he knew, she couldn't take his offer.

She stroked his chest, feeling the defined muscles. He wasn't built like a body-builder, and he had put on a little extra weight since hitting middle age, but he still looked damn good. He wasn't fat by a long shot; he had just filled in. Not even the salt and pepper hair on his chest, face, and head were a distraction. There was still far more chestnut than gray in all places.

Her hand froze in place; she was stalling, and her observations were just distracting her from the question at hand. She dropped her head into his chest, and she felt tears sting her eyes. "We can't," she whispered, her shoulders shaking. "We can't."

"Sure we can," he cradled her against him, kissing her hair. "We just call the hospital, tell them we quit..."

"And what about when you get bored, House." She lifted her head up. "You can't just sit still," she said, softly. "You need your puzzles. You need to play mad scientist. It's what drives you, and you know that."

"I can change," he whispered.

"Everybody lies," she told him, not in an unkind tone. "And people don't change." She lifted her palm and she stroked his stubble covered cheek. "We're not even in a real relationship," she swallowed.

His eyes darkened. "I'm just a sperm factory to you." He tried to turn away, but she caught his head, forcing him to look at her.

"I...care...for you, House. You're my friend. You're my best friend. But three months of sleeping together does not a relationship make." He pressed his lips together, trying not to pout. "You're high,"

"I haven't had any drugs since..." he angrily interrupted her.

She shook her head. "You're happy. You're pain free, and you're happy. We haven't even been on a real date, House. You never asked me out. I never asked you out. I asked you to be a sperm donor because I trust, like, and respect you, and I never in a million years thought you would say yes." She felt a tear drip from her eye, and she licked her lips. "I hoped you would, but..."

"You thought I'd be the miserable ass I usually am, and I would tell you no," he finished for her, his shoulders sagging. "And I almost proved you right."

She kept silent. "This running off the beach forever wouldn't work, for both of us. We're both driven; you by puzzles, and me by my career. We would drive each other crazy after a week, and we'd murder each other in a month." She gave him a wry, sad smile. "I hadn't even slept next to you until this weekend. Hadn't woken up next to you. It was a good feeling, but..."

"You're not ready for a relationship. Not with me."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Do you want a relationship. With me. Back in Princeton?" He returned her look, and he bit his lip. He blinked, trying to find words. "It's okay," she whispered. "Don't answer that, now." She kissed him softly. "It's okay to not want more." She rubbed her hands along his biceps. "It's okay not to change."

"You don't want to change? _You_ don't want more?" His tone was incredulous. "I thought it was dream to have the husband and the 2.5 kids, and the dog, and the picket fence."

"I did want those things, but," she shrugged, grinning a little. "You can't always get what you want." She felt him stroke her back as she kissed him again. "But," she murmured, "as the philosopher Jagger once said...

"_You can't always get what you want_," they said softly, in unison, both closing their eyes.

She deepened the kiss, and he let her, rolling her over onto her back. "But," she panted as he broke of the kiss. She gently caught his lip with her teeth. "if you try, sometimes," she moaned in between kisses, "you just might get what you need."

He growled, a low sound, and he kissed his way slowly down her body, licking here and biting there. He ran his hands over her hips, tugging her shorts down, pulling them down and over her ankles. He unbuttoned his own cargo shorts, and he tugged them off before sliding up her body. He hovered over her, stroking her chest gently. They could hear the gulls crying around them, but, protected by their little dune and private beach, they felt alone.

She put her arms around his neck, and she drew his head down to her. He kissed and nuzzled her softly, taking his time. Her hips cradled his, and she could feel his hot erection pressing into her thigh, but he made no effort to enter her. He kissed her, sucking on her lip and tickling her tongue, drawing soft moans from her..

She ground her hips against his, and he slipped his hand between them. He didn't take his lips from hers, but he strummed her, keeping his touch light. When he felt she was ready, he shifted his hips, pressing himself against her entrance. "Do you want me, Cuddy," he whispered into her ear, tenderly tickling the outer shell with his tongue. She whimpered in response, and she reached around him, squeezing his butt, pushing him forward.

He slid between her thighs, and instead of the powerful, rapid thrusts he normally used in their love making, he took his time, slowly pushing in until he was completely buried, then, he drug himself out, causing her to gasp. He kept his pace slow and lazy, softly kissing her mouth, her cheek, her throat, her ear, any part of her he could get his lips near.

The usual powerful build up and intense release was replaced the ripples of pleasure, which like the waves of the ocean itself, built on one after the other. She gripped his back, trying to become as close to him as possible, as her own inner walls gently pulsed around him. He sighed gently, thrusting one last time, filling her.

They wrapped themselves in a cotton throw, and, holding on to each other, they watched as the stars came winking out, one at at time, until the sky was full of them, and they were bathed in the light of the moon. Silently, when the breeze became too much, they made their way inside, and they curled up together under the blanket, saying with touches what they couldn't say in words.

[H] [H] [H]

It rained as they left the next morning, and he left the keys to the place in the mailbox of the house up the road instead of taking them to the old sea dog, just so he didn't get out of the car. Weather still affected his thigh, and while he wasn't in pain, he was stiffer than he had been. The drive back to Princeton was long, and they stopped a few times for food and bathroom breaks. It was dark when he pulled back into the garage in Trenton, ready to swap out the Corvette for his old blue dinosaur.

There was so much to say, so they said nothing. He didn't walk her to her porch, letting her stiffly get out of the car on her own, and she picked up her bag. "See you tomorrow," she told him, her voice hoarse and cracked.

He nodded in response. "Yeah." He pulled out into the street, leaving her alone.

Later that evening, after a phone call to her parents, she emptied her overnight bag. She dumped her clothes in a hamper, and she put her toiletries away. She reached in to pick up her make-up case, and her fingers brushed against an unfamiliar velvet case. She pulled it out, and, with trepidation and shaking hands, she opened it. Inside, was a starfish shaped gold pendant. There was no words, no note, just a gentle reminder of their weekend together.

Her lip quivering, and her movements stiff and numb, she tugged on her night shirt, and she curled up on her bed, crying soft tears over what might have been, hoping she had made the right choice.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Quick note - I am loosely following canon. Any changes have to do with making my story fit around it. So, some things might be a little different, some might be the same. Just letting you all know that :-)**_

_**If you have issues with that, well, nobody's making you read this, and I ain't getting paid to write it :P**_

_**Also, we moved past 100 comments/reviews on this little story. I just want to take the time to thank everyone who comments for doing so! I really appreciate you guys taking time to let me know what you think! When I have a bad day, I go back and read them, and it always makes my day a little brighter, so THANK YOU! And I also would like to thank everyone who reads this, whether you comment or not. I hope it brings a little enjoyment to your day :-)  
**_

_**I don't own House; DS does. May he have mercy on our Huddy souls this season (so far, so good! *fingers crossed*)**_

_**Thanks, and enjoy!**_

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

_**Nothing Changes**_

He didn't sleep well the night before he returned to work. After he had finally returned from his usual time spent at Cuddy's, he had tried to come up with things to occupy his spinning mind. He had hoped that sex with Cuddy would take his mind off the apprehension he was feeling, but all it did was add to it. He had left as soon as she was asleep, as he usually did, and he rode around town, trying to work off the excess energy he seemed to have. Usually, he was drained after spending time with Cuddy.

He went home after the ride, and he poured a scotch. He practiced a little at the piano, but nothing came to him. After playing the same three chords over and over again, he gave up, finishing his third scotch, and he turned on the tv.

He woke up at six a.m., still on the couch. He didn't need to be at work until ten, but that didn't matter. Usually, his alarm was set for nine-ish, but today, his body rejected the need to sleep in. He stared at the ceiling, before finally heaving himself off the couch. He rummaged in his kitchen, and he got a pot of coffee going, and he nibbled on a few pieces of toast. He tested his thigh, as he had done every morning after he had awoken relatively pain free, searching for any signs of the ketamine wearing off. Finally, when he couldn't put it off anymore, he took his time stretching, and he dressed in his jogging shorts and t-shirt. He laced up his Nike's, and he programmed his iPod, ready to go.

The journey to the hospital was eight miles, and he averaged about ten minutes a mile. He wasn't ever going to be winning any races, but he could run. This was the big test, and what he had been working up to. He took his time, having picked out his path carefully. It would take him through campus, but away from traffic; he didn't want to be hit by a bus on the way back to work.

The morning was cool, but the humidity was building. It promised to be hot later, but right then, the weather was perfect. It was mid-September, and summer was putting up its last fight. The leaves were already starting to change. Everything was changing, not just the seasons.

It would be good to be back. Cuddy was right; he couldn't live without his puzzles. He craved them like a kid craved candy. He was practically foaming at the mouth, wanting something to do with his time other than napping, wandering around the apartment, and having sex with his boss.

They hadn't talked about what happened Labor Day weekend. It was an unspoken understanding between them. He knew she was right; he knew that they weren't ready for a typical relationship. Not that anything would be typical for them. It hurt though, more than he wanted to admit, and it had hurt her, too. She didn't want to admit that she didn't want a steadier relationship with him, but she had, and they couldn't take those words back. It was out in the open.

Not that he was relationship material at the moment. He was still recovering, and he knew, that he would say something stupid, heartless, and cold to her. With those words, he would doom whatever they would have together. Nah, it was better like this; no expectations. And after she became pregnant...if she became pregnant, then they would just have to deal with it from there.

He felt the jarring impact of his shoes slapping the pavement to the rhythm of _Paint It Black_. Eight weeks. Eight weeks had passed since he had been released. As nervous as he was, it felt right going back. He wondered if any interesting hook-ups had happened while he was gone. He had money on Cameron and Chase getting together by the end of the year, despite her infuriating crush on him. Not that he didn't think she was hot, because she was, but he wasn't a screwed up little puppy for her to heal with sunbeams and rainbows. He _was _screwed up, but he wasn't fixable; of that he was sure of.

Cuddy had told him that she had assigned his team to other areas of the hospital while he was out on leave, so it would technically be their first day back. This was the beginning of the third year of their fellowship together as a team. Chase had been with him a year longer, and Cameron came along six months later. Chase was a more than capable doctor, but he needed to be more of a leader. Foreman was Foreman. There wasn't any other way to describe him. The man was suited for administration, whether he realized it or not, but he hungered after House's job. He seemed to need to prove himself greater than the master. Cameron...well...she belonged in oncology with Wilson, where she would have plenty of dying people to try and fix.

Three years together. He had never had a team for this long before, and never this many. Ever since Cuddy had offered him the job of head of diagnostics, he'd always had a fellow or two to bounce ideas off, but the formula of three plus him had worked out much more than he had thought it would be. Cuddy had been a genius, finding a funding opening so he could higher one more fellow, but he would never admit that to her. There were a lot of things he would never admit to Cuddy; they just seemed to backfire every time he did open up to her.

He snorted to himself. He hated this touchy-feely crap. He was turning into Wilson. He reached down to the iPod clipped to his waistband, and he turned it up, hoping to drown his thoughts in the music.

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy squirmed in her chair a bit trying to work out the pain that had settled in her lower back. She must have stretched wrong doing her yoga earlier in the morning, and she was paying for it now. Usually, her chair was very comfortable. It was one of the perks she demanded when the hospital hired her. If she was going to be spending as much time as she did sitting in it, it had better be damn comfortable. Today, it wasn't helping.

She arched her back a little bit, and she reached behind her, rubbing the sore muscles. She didn't suffer back pain often; in fact, it sometimes was one of her precursors to menstruation, but it usually wasn't this bad. It was usually felt more uncomfortable and less like the dull, pulsing ache she was feeling now. That slight discomfort in her lower back and the light headache that danced around her temples were her period's warning signs. She ground her teeth together in frustration; she had discovered that she had begun spotting earlier that morning, which meant her cycle had begun again. Another month, another period, and another failed attempt. She sighed, sinking back in her chair, casting her eyes down. She wanted to curl up on her couch and cry, but she couldn't. She save that for tonight, when she curled up with her pint of chocolate chip ice cream that was already settled in the freezer.

She smiled lightly at the thought. House had discovered it last night, and he almost ate it, until she threatened to separate himself from his manhood if he even touched it. Her threat must have been convincing, because he uttered a small _eep_ sound, and he had quickly returned it to its nest in the freezer. He then proceeded to grumble about the lack of junk food at her house, and, then, he threatened her he was going home to eat Oreos and M & M's. He left after she was asleep, like he always did, but she still made a mental note to stop by the grocery store on her way home tonight to get him some junk food so he could graze on it when he stayed at her house.

Not that he spent the night, or anything.

A light tapping on her door distracted her from her mental musings. "Come in," she called, composing herself quickly.

Wilson poked his head in. "When's he due in?" he asked, entering her office.

Cuddy glanced at the clock. "Well, it's nine thirty now," she mused. "Not earlier than ten, I imagine."

Wilson nodded, and he sat down in front of her desk. "I went through the pile of files on his desk last night, and these are the one's that I figured were the most interesting for him."

She picked one up. "Do you think he'll be interested in them?" she asked, anxious.

Wilson gave her a grin. "Yeah, I think so. At least one of them." He picked up a file. "What about post-hair transplant aphasia guy?"

She shifted a little in her seat. "Infection throwing clots, House will shoot it down and call you an idiot," she told him shortly.

Wilson raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, well we wouldn't want that," he responded dryly. He watched her shift a little again. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

She nodded. "Pulled a muscle doing yoga this morning." She glanced down at the file in her hands, and smiled at the irony. "Speaking of which, what about yoga girl?" she asked, grinning a little.

Wilson smiled. "Has a good hook." he agreed.

She frowned a little in thought. "Should we lead with it?"

Wilson bit at his lip. "His first day back, might want to flex his sarcasm muscle; maybe we open with one of the weaker pitches."

They started to ponder their next move, but they jumped a little when the door to her office burst open. House stood there, a wide grin on his face. Cuddy and Wilson's eyes grew wide when they saw him sweat soaked. Her jaw dropped a little. "You ran here?" she couldn't believe it. Not when a he could barely handle the jog they went on two weeks ago.

House walked to the back of her office and back, his legs a little weak, but still needing to move. "It's just... 8 miles," he panted. He spotted the bottle of water in her hand and he snatched it. He guzzled it, sighing a little in satisfaction. "Not that bad," he grinned at them. Then he saw what they were doing. His eyes grew wider with glee. "For me? A new case? You shouldn't have," he gushed, rolling his eyes at them. She smiled back at him, happy to see him already shifting into House-at-work mode. Her observation proved true when he asked, "what have you got for me, boss?" He held out his hand for a file.

Wilson smiled. His friend was back. It had been lonely in the hospital without him. "Middle-aged man: had hair transplant about 2 months ago...:

House rolled his eyes, and he wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his t-shirt. "Infection throwing clots, you're an idiot." He watched as Cuddy and Wilson exchanged looks. Something was up. The left side of his mouth quirked up into a little grin, and he lifted his eyebrow. " Snd she's holding a file for a 26-yr-old female," he said slowly, then smirked at them, folding his arms across his chest. "What have you really got for me?" He snatched a file from the pile on the desk.

Cuddy smiled at him, wanting to give him a small salute for picking up their game. She rolled her shoulders back, sitting up a little straighter. "Girl was doing an inverted yoga pose, neck snapped, paralyzed from the neck down except the x-rays show no evidence of spinal injury." He gave her a small look, and she felt a little more smug. " And she's cute," she finished.

House's grin grew wider. "Oh, well played sir!" he exclaimed, holding out his right hand for the file. He continued to read the file he had just picked up, and his expression changed. His brow furrowed a little deeper in thought. "What about Stephen Hawking trying to do the 500 butterfly?" he asked, not to anyone in particular.

Wilson shrugged. "Forget it - brain cancer, brain surgery; there's nothing left to diagnose. I would take the other one..." he trailed off, glancing at Cuddy, who shrugged in response.

House read on. "Hmm...," he intoned. He snapped the file shut, then looked at his friends. "I'll take them both." He nodded at them, then turned and left the office.

Cuddy rose to her feet quickly, and she felt a mild dizzy spell hit her. She ignored it, and she chased after him. "_Both_ of them," she hissed as he reached the stairwell..

He gave her a shocked look. "Doctor Cuddy," he said loudly, and she felt her cheeks turn pink. "Do you really think me incapable of handling both these cases?" He smirked, enjoying her embarrassment. "I _am_ a Board Certified diagnostician. My team and I _should_ be able to handle these." He paused, as if deep in thought, then he grinned. "We should be able to diagnose at least one of these people." He gave her a little wink.

She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her happiness that House was back. "Okay, Doctor House," she acquiesced. "But I _will_ be keeping an eye on you. And your team." She made pretense of looking over the files. "Your suit is in your locker, in the fourth floor locker room," she said in a low whisper. "It's good to have you back."

He nodded. "It's good to be back." He watched her retreating backside as she returned to her office, nodding to Wilson as he came up to him.

"What was that all about?" Wilson asked, staring in wonder at his friend.

He gave his friend a wide smirk and a wink. "She misses the hard wood. Too bad. Two months, and no pain. She'll have to find her release somewhere else, now." Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned. House, still smirking, turned and headed up the stairs. Damn, it was good to be back.


	15. Chapter 15

**_A/N -_**

**_Sorry, a short chapter to move the story a head a bit._**

**_Hope you enjoy it._**

**_I will not apologize...you knew this was commin'..._**

**_As always, I don't own House. I wish I did, but I don't... May DS and Co have mercy on our Huddy souls this season (so far, so good! :-D )  
_**

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

_**Win A Little, Lose It All**_

It started gradually. Little things that took him a while to notice. A slight ache after running. A mild spasm after climbing stairs. Much more stiffness in the morning than he had been feeling. He found himself rubbing his leg more often, and it wasn't just force of habit. The ketamine was wearing off.

House knew the signs, of course. He wasn't an idiot, but he didn't want to admit it to himself, either. He didn't want to admit that the gods that he didn't believe in had once again taunted him, given him the slightest taste of ambrosia, only to rip it away.

It hadn't come back full force, yet, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it would.

Which is why he had her on her knees in her bed.

He was taking advantage of the use of his leg while he could, enjoying a position he wouldn't be able to do much in when it came roaring back full force, like he knew it would. He hovered over her, grunting as he thrusted hard into her tight clench from behind. They were both covered with a sheen of sweat, and her mews of pleasure had turned into throaty pleas for release. She pressed back into him with the same enthusiasm he had thrusting, trying to drive him deeper. He gripped her hips, pushing forward with full force, filling her as much as he could.

"Oh, oh, ohohoh. OH," she howled, flexing her back and throwing her head back, the primal screams escaping her throat. Her inner walls gripped him tightly, and he thrust hard one more time, feeling himself pulse deep within her. They both collapsed on the bed, she on her stomach, and he on top of her. His softening member was still within her.

There wasn't anything different than this from any other night from the previous three months, except the dull throb that began to radiate from his thigh. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the ache down, trying to ignore it. He pressed his cheek to the smooth skin between her shoulder blades, loving how that little indent seemed to mold to his face perfectly.

She seemed to know that something was wrong, but she didn't want to move. Couldn't move. Her limbs felt like jello, and her shoulders rose and fell raggedly as she tried to get control of her breathing. He finally couldn't take it anymore, and he rolled off of her, rubbing his thigh with the heel of his hand. She immediately felt the emptiness inside her as he pulled out, making a soft _oh_ sound as he did so. She could feel the trickle of their intermingled fluids stickily dribble down her thighs as she shifted position to look at him.

She wanted to ask him if he was alright, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. There were certain boundaries they didn't cross while they were in bed together. She had noticed him favoring his leg a little more lately, and he hadn't been running into work. Wilson had brushed it off as just minor pains, but there was something in his eyes the past week that had been bothering her; like there was something more to what was going on.

"I'm _fine_," he grunted in answer to her unspoken question. He rolled his head to the side. "So stop worrying."

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. It shouldn't have surprised her that he knew what she was thinking; he had always been able to read her like a book. She folded her arms under her head, and she just looked at him. He continued to rub his thigh a few more times, then he rolled over on his stomach, mirroring her look. He stretched out a hand, and he stroked her back; his long fingers dancing up and down her spine. She gave him a smile as he cupped her backside. "I love your ass," he murmured.

"I know," she shifted a little, rolling over on her side. He flipped over onto his back again, and he allowed her to snuggle up to him. It was a feeling he wanted to remember for a long time. He held her in his arms, stroking her, trying to forget the ache and throb of his thigh in the feel of her smooth skin. Smirking to himself, he let his hand dip to her breast, cupping it in his hands. Frowning, he squeezed it gently. He watched her move uncomfortably. She blinked at him. "What's wrong?" she asked as he gently probed her breasts.

"You're breasts are firmer," he commented without inflection in his voice. "And judging by the way you winced when I squeezed it, it's sore, too." He pressed his lips together, gathering his thoughts. He finally sighed. "Did you get your period last month?"

"Yeah," she propped herself up on her elbow. "The day you started back." Her brow furrowed lightly. "So, three weeks ago."

"Was it light?"

"Yeah, but my periods fluctuate. They always have." Her eyes grew wide. "You don't think..." she trailed off, not daring to say anything more and jinx the moment.

"Did you have any back pain? Headaches?" She nodded slowly. "Did you get a pregnancy test?"

"I figured once I started..." she trailed off. Wordlessly, she stood up, and she went to the bathroom, where he knew she had an over-the-counter test in the cabinet.

While she was in there, he got out of bed, careful to keep as much weight off his right leg as possible. The ache became more incessant as he dressed, but he tried to ignore it in order to dress quickly. He hung back just long enough to peek through the bathroom door, watching her watch the white pregnancy test on the toilet seat. She had slipped on a silk robe, and it loosely hung around around her body. Her face nearly glowed with excitement as she stared at it. He closed his eyes, and he felt his shoulders sag; this was her dream, not his.

He left without a word, which actually wasn't unusual for him. He straddled his bike, starting it up, and he put his helmet on it warmed up. He put it in gear, and he slowly started down the road, feeling lower than dirt as he left her alone. _It's better this way_. He told himself. He really didn't want to be a dad, and if she was pregnant, it was better to step in the background now than to stick around and fuck the kid up.

He pulled into the underground parking lot of the hospital a few hours later. He had went to the familiar haunts of the jogging park, trying to work the ache out of his leg. He knew that it was in vain, that no matter what he did now, the pain would come back full force soon. When, he didn't know. It could be a few days from now, it could be a few weeks, or even a few months, but the dull, deep ache he was feeling now was a precursor to the soul pulverizing pain that was to come.

He wanted to go to his office, to hide with his whiteboard and a bottle of booze. He couldn't go back to her place, not with her gloating over finally succeeding at something he had wished she wouldn't, and he didn't want to go back to the lonely haunt of his apartment. He just needed time to think, to figure out what he could do.

He passed the new security chief; Mangus or Meadows, or Masters...whatever the hell his name was, on his way up. The guy paused when he saw House, but there must have been something in his eyes that made the guard stop and move on. Either that, or he recognized the acerbic doctor that prowled the hospital like it was his own kingdom.

He collapsed into his lounge chair, rubbing his thigh. The ache had intensified during his brief run, and tears stung his eyes. His breath hissed out as he tried to work out the spasm, his head bowed in pain. His hurt and disbelief turned to anger. "This isn't fucking right," he shouted to the empty office, growling as the pain subsided somewhat. It didn't go away.

He sat there for hours, hiding behind his closed blinds. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the world. All he wanted was the pain to go away, and once it receded to a minor ache, he rose. His heart pounded in his chest, and he was covered with a thin film of sweat. He felt like he had just ran a marathon, or had a marathon sex session with Cuddy. Something had to give.

Swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat, he shakily stood up, waiting to see if his leg would hold. When it did, he didn't breath a sigh of relief. The pain, though lessened, was still there, and it wasn't going anywhere. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying to figure out his next move. He sighed, sick with himself. Life was going way too damn smooth, and he had reason to distrust it. With Cuddy probably pregnant and the pain returning, his smooth ride was over, and he was skidding over ungraded gravel with no clothes on. His nerves were raw and tingling, and the wounds to his spirit were covered in road rash.

There was only one thing that could take away the pain.

He slowly made his way into the conference room, and he slipped out the door that lead to the balcony that connected with Wilson's office. The air was warm for early October, as if Summer was trying to keep a death grip on the world, not ready to give up, but Winter would soon win out. He slowly crossed over the low wall that separated their balconies, and he tried Wilson's door, knowing that Wilson rarely kept it locked. He smiled wearily when it clicked open.

He slipped inside Wilson's dark office, happy that the orange security lights gave him just enough illumination to see. He limped over to Wilson's desk, and he opened the top drawer. He pushed a few trinkets and pens out of the way, and he found what he was looking for.

He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip. He shook his head; Wilson had done this a hundred times, and once the pain came back full force, he would start writing his scripts again, so it wasn't a big deal, for this one time. Sighing, he wrote down the dosage he needed, and he signed Wilson's name on the paper. He ripped off the slip, and he put it in his jeans pocket. He returned everything to order in the drawer, and he shut it. He slipped back out the door, sighing, grateful for the relief that would come, but angry for the pain returning in the first place.

He slunk out of the hospital, feeling lower than low. His world was crashing down around him, and the script was burning a hole in his pocket. As he headed towards the all night pharmacy and clinic that Princeton General ran, he pondered his situation. He decided that he was right in thinking that happiness was something to be feared and mistrusted.

He decided that happiness was overrated.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

_**Spinning Wheels**_

House sat at his desk, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He flipped through the charts, not seeing what he needed to see. What were the missing pieces? The kid was stable, for now, but what was it that was making him so?

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, frowning deeply. His brows were furrowed so tightly together with thought he was giving himself a headache. He rubbed at his thigh, which decided that because his head was beginning to hurt that it needed to up the ante, just in case he forgot about it. Growling, he tossed the charts on the table, knowing that they wouldn't know anything until the results from the lab work came back.

He groaned, closing his eyes. He needed sleep. He needed a lot of sleep. It was nearly three days since he had slept in his bed, and he didn't count the little cat naps he took in his office. He stifled a yawn, and he took the glasses off. He put them on his desk, and he stood up and stretched. His muscles were tight from sitting for so long, and his leg had a laundry list of complaints. He dug into his pocket, and he dry swallowed a couple of pills, hoping that they would take the edge off. He checked his phone for any messages, and when he saw that there were none, he heaved a big sigh that turned into a yawn. His brain was running in circles, coming to no conclusion. He glanced at the whiteboard in his office, reading the symptoms, which weren't adding up. Sighing heavily, he collapsed into his lounge, and he put his feet up. Resting his eyes would help, or so he told himself.

He folded his hands across his stomach, and he closed his eyes. _Just for a mom..._ He didn't even complete the thought before he was asleep.

[H] [H] [H]

The sound of Cuddy's heels clicking on the tile floor seemed unnaturally loud to her ears. She was tired, but then again, she was always tired lately. It was one of the signs that she had been hoping for so long. She pressed her hands to her abdomen as she walked to his office, her eyes shining bright. She imagined she could feel the tiny bump that was beginning to form in her abdomen.

She was eight weeks along. Two months! She couldn't believe it. She had been holding her breath, but her OBGYN had told her that everything was going along fine, though her ever-present headaches were cause for slight concern, but they would just keep a close eye on everything for the time being. All her labwork was normal, and the baby was developing right on schedule. The OB had told her that she would have to increase her protein intake through supplements, since she wasn't getting any through meat, being a vegetarian.

She hadn't gained any weight, mostly due to her already high metabolism, but the OB had reassured her that she would. Her abdomen was slightly puffy, but she felt bloated more than anything. It was the fatigue that hit her the hardest. She found herself taking cat naps in her office. Once, she was caught by Wilson with her head down on her desk, but he had just laughed gently at her and asked her if it was just House rubbing off on her.

His team was gone, off running some sort of procedure, she supposed. He had a possible diagnosis, she knew, from his demand on running a particularly nasty and insane procedure. She had shot him down, and she made him and his team do something a little less insane but no less effective.

She sighed, knowing his _modus operandi. _He was angry and depressed; she knew the symptoms, and he was throwing himself full force into his case. He was trying to escape misery by working himself to the brink. Her theory was confirmed when she reached his office. She sighed, seeing him stretched out in his lounge chair, his feet propped up on the ottoman. His arms were tightly wrapped around his body, and his mouth was slightly open.

She hesitated for a moment, then she entered quietly. She watched as he chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm of deep sleep. She studied his face, noting the deep, dark circles that surrounded his sunken eyes. He looked worn and ragged, and she knew he was wearing himself down to the core. She was always amazed, that as much as he abused his body that he actually rarely became ill.

She felt her abdomen tighten just looking at him, and a surge of lust ran through her body. It always bothered her that just looking at him could do that to her, make her dream of doing things to him that would make anyone, including herself blush.

She felt her cheeks heat at those thoughts, and she brushed a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes. She wrenched her eyes away from him, and she heaved a loud sigh. She had felt so alone for the past three weeks, but she couldn't force him to do anything; couldn't force him into anything. He had to make the choices himself. Add in the ketamine wearing off, and she knew he was in a dangerous place, emotionally. He would never be considered a fragile being, but she knew that someone could only experience so many let downs before they crashed and burned under the weight.

She just hoped she wasn't watching him crash and burn.

She took a deep breath, and she straightened up, rolling her shoulders back. She gave him one last look, before leaving him in sleep, when she saw him shiver slightly. She glanced around the room, and she spotted his gray blazer hanging from the back of his chair. She quickly and quietly retrieved it, and she leaned over him, covering him up with it. She was a hairsbreadth away from him, and all she wanted to do was plant a soft kiss on his lips. It took all of her willpower, but she held back. He was a drug, and she was addicted. Too bad she needed to quit him cold turkey, until he realized what he could have...what they could have.

As if they ever could realize it. They spent so long denying it, that it was probably no longer there.

Before she left him alone, she drew the blinds on both the walls facing the hallway and the conference room, leaving him in darkness and solitude. Two things she knew he had become very used to over the years.

[H] [H] [H]

He awoke with a start from a dream he couldn't remember. His heart was thrumming against his chest so hard he thought it was going to escape from his body. His eyes roamed the room, and he tried to focus on what he saw. At first, everything was strange and unfamiliar, and he tried to remember where he was. He focused on things a little bit at a time, and the once alien place became his very familiar office.

Once he realized where he was at, he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, making a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan. He slowly sat up, pushing himself upright in the chair. His blazer slipped off of him and puddled on the floor. His neck and shoulders ached, giving his thigh a run for its money. His mouth felt like he had swallowed a box of cotton balls, and his throat was parched. He looked over, and he spotted an open bottle of water on his desk.

Steeling himself for the action, he heaved himself up and out of the chair. His leg didn't give out on him, but it did remind him that mornings sucked ass, and that it was cranky. It twinged and spasmed and ached, but it supported him enough for him to get across the room, where he sank heavily into his desk chair.

He downed the bottle of water in a few gulps, gasping at the relief it gave his dry throat. He glanced around, slowly getting his bearings, when his watch beeped at him. He glanced at the time, and blinked. It read nine am. He sat back in his chair, toying with the cap from the water bottle. He _had_ been tired, but he hadn't expected to spend the entire night asleep in his office , especially with his team still monitoring the patient. He growled to himself, rubbing his leg; something was up.

Once he had worked the ache out of his thigh, he searched for his vicodin bottle. He downed a couple of pills, then he got to his feet. He needed to find out where his team was, and then he would ream them for not waking him up.

He didn't have to look far. He opened the blinds to the conference room, and he saw them sitting around the glass topped desk. Cameron was the first to notice him limp into the room, a deep, still sleep scowl etched on his craggy features. She leaped up, and she immediately started fixing him a cup of coffee. Foreman and Chase just looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"What's the news with the patient?" he barked out, snatching the cup out of Cameron's outstretched hands. "Any changes."

"No," Chase drew out shakily. "Everything's stable. It's really looking like it's amyloidosis."

"There wasn't any changes," Foreman broke in. "The treatment is taking, and she's improving."

House looked at each of his fellows in turn, his look dark. "And no one thought to tell me this? I could have gone home and called a hooker, instead of getting a stiff neck from sleeping in my office chair."

"Cuddy told us not to," Cameron's voice was small. "She told us not to disturb you."

"And you listened to her?" his voice rose a bit, disdain and disagreement in his tone. "She's not your boss, and she's not the one leading this department!"

"No," Foreman pointed out. "She's your boss, ergo, she _is_ our boss, and she's the Dean of Medicine. We do have to listen to her."

House glowered at him. "You have to listen to her _when it's relevant to the case_. Which telling you not to disturb me while I was asleep in my office is not relevant. Next time, get my opinion on the matter before you do something that _involves me_." He downed the rest of his coffee, irritated by their actions. Or rather, inactions.

"We were just worried about you," Cameron said in a soft voice, like someone had kicked her favorite puppy. "You haven't been yourself since..." she trailed off.

_Since the pain came back,_ his brain finished for her. Irritated, he picked up his cane from the shelf it was hanging from. "Okay. Since you all feel that you have to bow down to the bodacious bureaucratic booty queen downstairs, I'll go and have a talk with her. Let her know that keeping me in the dark about my own case is not the way it works around her." He got up with a huff, and he exited the office, his mood dark.

[H] [H] [H]

She was sitting at her desk, reviewing a proposal for renovating the radiology department. She should have known that he would burst into her office; after all, he did so at least once a day, but she still jumped a little when the doors exploded open. She knew by the look on his face that he was upset, and that she was the reason.

She watched intently as he closed the heavy wooden doors, and he closed the blinds. He took a deep breath, not quite looking at her. "Why the hell did you interfere in my case?"

"I didn't interfere in your case," she told him matter of factly, sighing a little as she closed the folder. "I merely informed your team that if your patient didn't show any change in symptoms, that they should leave you alone." At his huff, she rolled her eyes. "You were asleep on your feet." In a quieter voice, she told him, "you're pushing yourself to the edge, and you know it."

"That's none of your damn business," he snarled. "And what if my patient had taken a turn? What was my team supposed to do then?"

"Well," she kept her tone business like, "I'd like to think that they're smart and clever enough to handle anything that came up." At his look of disbelief, she continued, a small smirk playing on her features. "After all, they do work for your. If they can't handle a few hours without you holding their hands, then they shouldn't be employed."

"So you're calling them idiots?" He scowled at her.

"I'm calling _you _an idiot," she shot back. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry that the pain came back."

"We're not having this conversation," he broke in before she could finish. "And this isn't about me. This is about the _thing_ growing inside of you."

She shook her head, her smile brittle. "You made yourself _perfectly_ clear that you didn't want to get involved after conception. I've accepted that, and I've moved on. You gave me everything I've ever wanted. Thank you. Is that what you wanted to hear?" His look was still dark. She stood up from her desk, and she moved around to him. "If you want to kill yourself, fine, but you _won't _be doing it on my watch. If I think that the health of one of my doctors is putting a patient in danger, then I _will _step in, like I did for you." She put her hand on his arm. "You weren't thinking straight, and you needed the sleep. Don't deny that. Your patient's stable. Take a few days off, if you need it. You're team is worried about you. Wilson is worried about you." _I'm worried about you_, she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

He shrugged off her hand. "I'm not trying to kill myself." His eyes pierced hers. "And I don't need any time off. Unless you're signing off on a procedure, don't interfere."

"It's _my _hospital, and I'll interfere any time I damn well think I need to. You have a certain amount of autonomy; more than any other doctor at this hospital. You even pick and choose your clinic hours, your patients, your office hours. Let me do my job by making sure you're okay to do yours." Her eyes implored him to listen to her.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, and he gave her a hard look. After a few minutes of tense silence, he nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "Okay." She felt herself relax with relief. "As long as this is about the hospital, and not about the bean growing in your belly."

She gave him a small half smile. "Trust me, it's about the hospital. Don't give the Board any more reasons to reprimand you. Trust me, you doing something insane and borderline criminal makes their day." She returned to the desk, and she picked up a folder. "Besides, you're set to be in Human Resources in an hour. Apparently one of the lab techs feels like you threatened her into doing a procedure. You can't do that, you know. "

He took the folder, and he rolled his eyes. "I do it all the time," he snorted. He exited the office with an angry limp.

Once she heard the door slam behind him, she sunk into her office chair, completely drained. Dealing with him took a great deal of energy, anymore, and she didn't have any to spare. She was worried about him, but she knew she couldn't show it. She put her hand on her belly, letting a tear fall from her eye. Whatever they had before, they would never be able to have again. That window had closed.

She allowed herself a small smile. At least she had something to remember their incredible two months by. "You gotta hang on, little bean," she softly told the baby growing in her belly. "Hang on for me, and your daddy."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Sorry for the delay on this one. It kept giving me problems. I think you'll understand why.**_

**_Don't hurt me...please? It wasn't easy for me to write...  
_**

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

_**Fate**_

It had been a very miserable day for Lisa Cuddy.

She had been feeling nauseated all day. The slightest smell could set it off, and it would send her running to the safety of her office bathroom. If anyone asked, she just told them that she was suffering from that bug that had been circulating, because there was always a bug going around. At ten weeks, she had noticed a slight rounding in her stomach, but it wasn't noticeable at all, especially with the looser jackets and sweaters she was wearing due to the cooler weather. She couldn't hide it forever, but she wasn't ready for the hospital to know about her. Her head pounded from caffeine withdrawal. It hadn't been too bad at first, but some days were worse than others, and today was one of the worst days.

She was exhausted and drained. She rubbed at her head, and took two of the pain relievers her OB had recommended for her. She wanted nothing more to go home, and to curl up under her covers with a book and a cup of decaffeinated tea. She hadn't had a big problem with morning sickness thus far into the pregnancy, but it had really plagued her for the past week. She felt her belly cramp slightly with the familiar pang of nausea, and a small, soft groan escaped her lips. Maybe she _had _come down with that stomach bug, after all.

A soft knock on her door distracted her. "Come in," she called out, hiding the can of ginger ale in her deep desk drawer with the saltines she had nibbled on all day.

Wilson poked his head in the door. "You busy?" he asked in a soft voice. He took one look at her pale pallor. "Are you okay?" he stepped into the room, concern resonating from his calm voice.

"Stomach bug," she said with a strained smile. "What do you need?"

He shook his head. "It's about House."

"Has he apologized to that Tritter guy from the clinic yet?" she broke in with a sigh, not really wanting to talk about House and his downward spiral.

"What Tritter guy from the clinic?" Wilson asked slowly. "What are you talking about?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she answered quickly. "I thought he had told you. What has he done this time, and can I suspend him for it?" She swallowed, her head beginning to throb from the nausea and the conversation.

"He hasn't done anything that I know of; I'm just worried about him," Wilson told her with a small shrug of apology. She felt his gaze of concern on her. "You should go home, Lisa," he told her in a soft voice. "You really don't look well."

She nodded. "I was thinking about it." She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "As for House, you'll have to ask him yourself. He hasn't said anything to me. He avoids me at all costs, and he's been especially elusive today." Wilson nodded, a wry look on his face. "And when you do see him," Cuddy gave him a dry, mirthless smile. "Tell him to apologize to Tritter. He's outdone himself this time, trust me."

Wilson swallowed. "I'll let him know," he told her. "Go home, and get some rest yourself, Lisa."

She nodded. "Sounds good," she admitted. "I'll tell Jackie to cancel the rest of my afternoon appointments." Her stomach cramped again with nausea, and she swallowed again. "I think going home is the best idea."

"Good," Wilson told her. "Do you want me to drop by tonight? I can bring over some chicken soup?"

She shook her head. "No, I'll be fine." She gave him a small smile. "Thank-you, though.

He nodded, then left her alone. As soon as the door clicked shut, she made a beeline for the bathroom.

She continued to feel sick for the rest of the evening, barely keeping down the saltines and gatorade she was drinking. The ginger ale hadn't worked at all, and she found herself running a low grade fever. She curled up on her sofa, trying to ignore the ongoing nausea. She had taken a safe fever-reducer, and was monitoring her temperature closely, making sure it didn't go above one hundred. The moment it did, she would go to the hospital. Unfortunately, not her hospital. She didn't want them knowing about her condition until she was ready to share it, so a former colleague in Trenton was handling all of her care. If she felt worse, she would go there for treatment.

The nausea began to subside much later that night, and she was able to fall a sleep on the couch, exhausted. Leno was on when she finally closed her eyes, her body curled around one of the throw pillows from the couch. The light flickering from the TV didn't even disturb her as she drifted off.

She normally didn't dream. Well, she didn't remember her dreams, but this dream was so vivid, at first she thought it was happening.

_She was jogging along the beach. The white caps of the ocean waves lapped at the shore, making a soft sighing sound as they kissed the sand before retreating back into the inky sea. She must have been running hard, because a stitch had formed in her side, and she had to pause to take a breath. She was soaked in sweat, and her breaths came out in harsh whooshes. She looked around, and she realized she was at the end of a pier, and the icy black water of the sea swirled ten feet below her. The light of the full moon reflected pure silver on the dark water._

_She heard a distinctive gait step up behind her, and a large, calloused palm slid over her exposed spine. Wordlessly, she turned around, and House stood behind her, his right hand gripping his cane tightly with the other pressed against her spine. For a long moment, she stared at him, unblinking. He looked melancholy, but the familiar spark of lust and admiration blazed in those sad blue eyes that looked silver in the moonlight. "I can't keep up with you anymore," he said softly. "But I don't want to be alone anymore."_

_She took a deep breath, unsure of what to say next. "You don't have to be alone," she finally admitted, softly, looking deep into his eyes. "You have me." She took his large hand into hers, intertwining the fingers. "You have us, if you want us." She swallowed, her throat dry. "We'll be there for you, waiting..." she let her voice trail off, but she didn't look away._

_A hurt, guilty look formed on his rugged features. "I can't have both of you," he whispered. "I didn't want..." His fingers unlaced themselves from hers, and they brushed her taut abdomen. "I hoped..." he whispered. "I'm sorry."_

"_For what?" she asked, confused. "You never did anything to hurt me."_

_A tear ran down his cheek. "Yeah, I did," he hoarsely moaned. "It's my fault. I didn't want to become a father. Didn't want to be my father."_

_She laughed nervously at him. "House?" She lifted a hand up, and she stroked his cheek gently. "What are you talking about? Nothing is your fault."_

_He shook his head. "You'll never forgive me." She stood there, her brows knitted together in thought. Whatever he was worried about, it was eating him up. She stepped closer to him, pressing her body against his. He was cold, she noticed, and he was shivering. She stretched her neck up, and she pressed her warm lips to his cold ones. _

"_Forgive you for what?" she asked, her voice breathless._

"_This," he whispered, cold tears trickling down his face. Before she could step back, his cane had transformed into a sharp, thin sword, and he plunged it into her abdomen._

She woke up startled, with sharp pains wracking her lower belly. She felt weak and shaky, and her breathing was ragged. Another vicious cramp seized her, and she curled up in a ball, a soft sob escaped from her mouth. She reached out for her cell phone, which she had put on the coffee table in front of her. Her mouth dry and her hands shaking violently, she struggled to press the buttons, but she finally did so, and she hoped to every deity out there that he picked up.

[H] [H] [H]

House had had a pissy day. First, the asshole in the clinic with crotch rot that had insulted him. He hated bullies; they reminded him way to much of his father, who was the biggest, bastard bully of them all. He had dealt with that in a matter he had seen fit. Too bad Cuddy hadn't found the humor in his little joke.

Seeing her had hurt, and it had hurt even more when she had dealt with him like it was business as usual. He wasn't sure if that was what he wanted or not. He wanted her to scream at him, to let him know that she was just as messed up about this whole mess as he was. He couldn't go a night without thinking of her, and she had invaded his dreams with a vengeance. He had taken to drinking with a renewed vigor, trying so hard to drink her out of his mind, but she still found her way there.

It was making him miserable.

He sat on his couch, an open bottle of bourbon in front of him. He didn't even try to pour it in a glass anymore. He was alone and miserable, and it killed him to think about how happy she was.

Anger flooded through his veins, and he picked up the bottle of amber colored liquor, and he threw it against the wall of his apartment as hard as he could, shattering it. A sharp pain coursed through his thought, and he swore that someone had taken an knife and stabbed the tissue, working the blade around for maximum effect.

He slumped back down to the couch, kneading the angry thigh hard, trying to work out the intense spasm. His cell phone began to hum from its place on his coffee table, and for a moment, he thought about ignoring it. He looked at through red-rimmed and blurry, bloodshot eyes, and he was able to make out the name of the person calling.

He pursed his lips together, and on the fourth ring, he finally picked it up. "What?" he barked harshly into the phone, not happy being disturbed."

Silence at first, then her soft voice whispered, "House?"

His red-hazed thoughts cleared immediately. There was something in her voice that screamed something was wrong. "Cuddy? What's wrong."

He could hear her licking her lips. "Come. Help me. Please." Pain. Pain was in her voice. He didn't even have to think; it was as if his body was on automatic pilot. He grabbed his keys and his coat, and he was out the door, the phone still open and on in his hand.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N - I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV. You won't find a whole lot of medical stuff in my fics, for that very reason. The internet is a useful tool, but in the end, I am a writer, and suspense wins.**

**Just wanted to get that out of the way. :-)**

**Hope you enjoy...**

**As usual, I don't own House. DS and Co. do, the lucky bastards. May they and the writers have mercy on our Huddy souls this season (so far, I am a Happy Huddy...probably why I feel the need to write depressive Huddy...gotta keep that balance... :-) )  
**

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

_**Timing's Everything**_

* * *

He drove to her house with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. His frantic mind was set on one topic: Get to her, and see what's wrong.

She hadn't called him since the night she discovered she was pregnant. He'd made it perfectly clear that he didn't want her to. He had half hoped she would, because that what she did; she fought him, tooth and nail, to make him prove to her that he was right, rather than just rolling over and going with it. His jaw clenched and his stomach dropped; that was what he had wanted her to do, and instead, she did just the opposite, leaving him alone.

He bit his lower lip hard enough he tasted blood. She had called him, not the hospital or an ambulance. This was big, and this was private; it had to do with the parasite. _His_ parasite. He swallowed, feeling bile rise up from his stomach as he navigated the streets of Princeton. His leg decided that it needed to act up, and it throbbed with the same rhythm as his head and heart. His whole body was as taut as an over tightened guitar string, and it was ready to snap with any more pressure.

He closed his eyes and cursed aloud, feeling lower than dirt. How much stress had she been under, these past few weeks? How much stress had he put on her? There were a bunch of incidents, and he knew she was worried about his leg, as well as everything else. She had been running the hospital as if nothing else had been happening, when she should have been taking it easy. He cursed again, loudly, and he sped up, knowing he was wasting precious time.

When he pulled up to her house, the first thing he noticed was that it was dark, save for the flickering light of what had to be the TV in the living room window. His leg protested greatly as he exited the car, but he tried to ignore it. He gripped his cane tightly, afraid of what he was going to find inside, but it seemed like his exaggerated, painful gait carried him slower than ever into the House.

"Cuddy?" he called from the dark entrance way. He heard Conan O'Brien make a joke about the latest drunk starlet that had been arrested for drugs or DUI; he could never remember which, but he didn't hear Cuddy at all. Worry gnawed at him. He limped over to the television, and he turned it off. "Cuddy?" he called louder, trying to keep the nervousness he was feeling from turning into full blown panic. He was quiet for a moment, listening.

He heard it. A soft whimper from the direction of her bathroom. Adrenaline coursed through him, his heart in his throat, and the pain in his thigh suddenly became subdued. He quickly made it down the hall, pausing in the dark doorway.

He didn't want to turn on the light. He really didn't want to see what he was afraid he was going to see. Another soft sob escaped from her throat, and he quickly pawed at the wall, trying to find the damn light switch.

He found her sitting on the floor, her back resting against the tub. Her knees were pulled up to her abdomen, and her thin arms were circled around them; she looked so frail, so fragile. A pair of bloody silk panties were discarded in the trash can. He took all of this in within seconds, trying to avoid her eyes. He forced himself to look into the normally sparkling, stormy orbs.

And he saw nothing. They were empty of the life and spark he usually saw in them. She stared blankly at the wall, at a spot near the switch itself. She blinked at the intrusion of light, but she refused to look at him. He noticed the tear streaks that ran down her cheeks. "Cuddy," he half whispered, half moaned. He took a few steps towards her, kneeling down. He knew his thigh was going to make him pay for it later, but he didn't car. He made a motion as if to brush the disheveled hair from her face, but instead, his shaking hands framed her head, afraid of touching her. "Cuddy," he whispered again, noticing the signs of shock.

She slowly turned her head toward him, her eyes still blank. "I lost her," she whispered, her throat tightening up on her. "I lost her," she repeated, a sob escaping her throat, and a painful emptiness welling up inside her. She tightened her arms, drawing herself into a tighter ball. A fresh wave of tears dripped down her cheeks, but no sound escaped from her. She rocked, her breathing ragged and rapid.

He hissed between his teeth. _Her. His daughter._. She was nearly eleven weeks along, it wasn't too early... He quickly put that thought out of his mind. "You don't know that," he whispered, still not touching her, but hovering around her. "We need to..."

"I'm a doctor, too, House," she whispered in a harsh monotone. "I know. She's...gone." The words stuck in her throat, making it hard to breath. She buried her face into her arms, sobbing silently.

"You're in shock, and in pain. We need to get you to the hospital, then we'll go on from there, okay?" he told her, pushing his emotions down. He needed to be the callous, caustic ass doctor right now. "I'll call an ambulance."

"NO!" she shrieked, startling him. "I can't go...not here," she gasped, sucking air. "Can't let anyone know... Don't want anyone to know..."

"You need to be checked out, and not here. I don't have the equipment." He scooted a little closer to her, finally touching her, grabbing his shoulders. She reluctantly looked up at him, her gray eyes listless. "Is there anywhere you _want_ to go."

"Here," she whispered. "Don't wanna leave." He felt her go limp, and he tightened his grip on her.

"Not an option," he said quickly. "Who's your OB?"

"Chang, at Trenton General," she responded automatically, like a robot.

"Her number in your phone?" It was a dumb question, but one he needed to ask. To his relief, she nodded, the motion jerky. "Okay," he sighed, quickly assessing his next few steps. "First things first, can you walk." At her blank look, he forced down a biting remark. "I can't carry you to my car," he admitted, his own voice locking up, but he forced his humiliation down. "You either gotta walk that far, or I gotta call Wilson." He rubbed at his face. "Or an ambulance. That would be better."

"No!" came the firm cry.

"'Kay. Let's get you on your feet, but first," he started to get up, but her hand darted out, and gripped his hand tightly.

"Don't leave me," she breathed. He could feel her hand shaking violently in his. "Don't leave me alone," she whispered, her eyes wide.

He squeezed back gently. "Only for a minute. I'll be right back." Her grip loosened, and he limped back to the living room, grabbing the old throw that was usually draped over the back of the couch. Now, it was in a small pile on the picked it up, and he carried it back into the bathroom. He did his best to crouch down, and he wrapped it around her thin shoulders. "It's cold outside. This'll keep you warm. He looked into her eyes. "I can't carry you out," he said, softly, casting his eyes down. "Can you get up?"

She motioned weakly with her arms, and he stood up, bracing himself on the sink. He gave her the leverage she needed to get up, then he slid his arm around her thin waist, holding her tight against him. She gasped out in pain as another cramp hit her, her steps faltering a little. His mind flashed back to his physical therapy sessions just after the infarction. "One more step, then another, then another." he told her as she leaned into him. "Just one more step."

It seemed to take forever, but he managed to get her to his car. Once she was tucked into the passenger seat, he crawled into driver's seat. He rubbed his face with his hands, then he started the car. Pulling onto the roadway and into the Princeton night, he flipped open her cell. "Your doctor's name is Chang?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road while perusing her cell phone for the right contact. He glanced over at her, trying to see if she would give him a reaction. Instead, she just gazed out the window, looking, but not seeing, the buildings fly by. When he realized he wasn't going to get a reaction out of her, he snorted, then turned his attention back to her phone. Sure enough, under the 'C's', he found an Elizabeth Chang. He hit the send button, then waited.

He didn't have to wait long, and after two rings, a sleepy voice with a soft British accent picked up. "Hello? Lisa? Is everything alright?"

"No," House's gruff, blunt voice must have come as a shock to her. "I'm a friend of Lisa's," he told her before she could ask. "Something's wrong."

"Wwwhat?" she stammered, and he heard a new alertness in her voice. "What happened?"

"She's eleven weeks along, and I'm calling you at one a.m." he growled. "I think you can do the ma..." Blue and red lights flashed into his rear view. "Dammit to hell," he swore. "Look, my name's House, and we're heading to Trenton General right now. Meet us there. Shouldn't take more than..." he paused, looking up in the mirror at the cop car. There were not many cars on the road, so it was obvious he was their target. "An hour. Maybe an hour and a half." Before she could respond, he flipped the phone shut, and he pulled over. "Christ," he muttered under his breath, resting his hands on the steering wheel. "Of all the times..."

A tapping came on his window. He rolled it down, impatiently. "Look, I know I was speeding..." He turned his head, and rolled his eyes. It was the asshole from the clinic. The stress and worry that had been building up within him finally snapped, and he couldn't control his mouth. "If this is about the thermometer..."

"Not the best time to bring that up," came the man's dry voice. "If you had bothered to look in my medical record, you would have found my occupation listed as detective." He gave House a small, mirthless smile. "You were doing quite a bit of weaving back there. Now, can you please step out of the vehicle. I'd like to perform a sobriety test, if you don't mind."

"Yes, I mind.." House blurted out, his irritation turning into nervous energy. "I'm on the way to the hospital," he growled out.

"Ah," the man gave him a smirk. "Emergency run, huh? Run out of pills?" House glared hard at him. "You took two pills while treating me in the clinic. That's classic drug addict behavior." He lazily lifted his eyebrows. "Now, get out of the car. Please?" He grinned ferally at House, showing yellowed teeth; a classic smoker's smile.

House stared at him for a moment. "Can I get my registration out of the glove box?"

"As long as you keep your hands where I can see them," came the detective's calm, lazy response.

Slowly, House reached across Cuddy, popping open the box. "Sorry," he apologized softly to her. "This is gonna take a moment." He saw the look of puzzlement on the detective's face in the reflection of the passenger window. Cuddy didn't respond right away, but slowly, she nodded, one, slow, jerky motion. His breath exhaled in a relieved whoosh at that motion; at least she wasn't entirely catatonic.

House backed out of the car, handing the slip of paper over to the cop. "Got your license on you?" he lazily drawled.

Sighing, he reached around to his back pocket, feeling for his wallet. His eyes grew momentarily wide when he realized that it was empty. "Damn it," he groaned. He looked at the cop, and he let out an annoyed sigh. "I must have left it at my apartment." The cop gave him a smug smirk. "Look," House came as close to pleading with another person as he ever had. "Can you let me slid this time. Hell, I'll even come down to the station tomorrow and show you my license, as well as all the unpaid parking tickets I've gotten. I just need to get to the hospital."

"Oh, yeah," the cop drawled. "Everybody lies," he informed House quietly. Both Princeton Genera., Princeton-Plainsboro, and Saint Mary's are back that way. So which hospital are you going to?" he asked, smugly.

A small, listless voice came from the passenger seat. "Trenton General."

The cop blinked, then he flashed his light into the car. Cuddy sat, huddled up in her blanket. "I asked him to take me to Trenton General," she said, quietly, still looking out the window.

"Doctor Cuddy?" the cop was stunned. "What happened?"

"That's what we're headed to Trenton to find out," House snorted.

The cop gave him a dark look. "She's the Chief Administrator of Princeton-Plainsboro," he pointed out. "Why isn't she going to her own hospital. I'm sure she'd get the best care..."

"Because, obviously, she doesn't want everybody to find out," House interrupted him. He bit his lip for a moment. "Look, follow us if you want. Arrest me when we get there. Just let me get her to Trenton, then you can plot your revenge."

The cop chewed on his gum for a moment. "Give me a moment." He started to turn back to his unmarked car. "You run, I'll shoot you." It wasn't told him in a threatening manner, House realized. The man was dead serious.

The next few minutes were some of the longest in House's life. After what seemed like hours, the tall cop moved slowly towards them. "Drive," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

House sighed, and he climbed in his car, ready to break some speed records on the way to Trenton.

The cop could put them on his bill.


	19. Chapter 19

_**A disclaimer or two - I am not a doctor, lawyer, or police officer, nor do I play one on TV. Nor have I ever been through a pregnancy or miscarriage. I'm relying on the internet for my information on this. If it's not correct, forgive me, and allow me some creative license. Google and WebMD have been my friend, but they are not infallible, and nor am I.  
**_

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**Remember, reviews are love ;)**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**_As always, I don't own House - DS and company do, but I thank them profusely for sharing their toys with us... :-)_**

**_

* * *

_**

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

_**Threats and Promises**_

_**

* * *

**_

Doctor Elizabeth Chang was waiting for him at the ER entrance to Trenton General. A small, slight woman with straight black hair, but astonishing blue eyes, she seemed even more petite in her dark blue scrubs and long white lab coat. House pulled his old beater up to the curb, then hopped out. "What's going on?" she asked, worry lines forming on her forehead as she knitted her thin eyebrows together. "Your phone call was very cryptic."

"You're Lisa's OB, right?" came the grunt as he opened the car door. Tritter pulled up behind him in his unmarked Crown Vic, but the asshole didn't get out of the car yet, choosing to instead watch the goings on rather than get in on the action.

"Yes," Chang nodded. She helped Lisa into a wheel chair. "Are you having abdominal cramps?" Lisa closed her eyes and nodded.

House looked up at Chang. "Cramps that keep her doubled over in pain, and a pair of bloody underwear. I think you can figure the rest out."

Chang sucked in a breath. "We'll take care of her from here," she said, giving him a sad look. She wheeled the chair into the hospital, leaving him standing on the curb.

A few minutes after they disappeared into the building, House heard a car door slam. "You're blocking a hospital entrance," Tritter's smug, raspy voice informed him from behind. "You want me to add that to your list of violations?"

House turned and glared at the smug bastard. "I was weaving because I was trying to call her doctor so that she knew to meet us here." His voice was low and dangerous, and that didn't escape Tritter, who smiled quietly.

"Ah, yes," he murmured. "The mysterious illness that the fabulous doctors at Princeton-Plainsboro can't treat." House's glare intensified. If his eyes were lasers, Tritter would have been nothing more than a pile of goo on the ground. "What's wrong with her." House just continued to glare. Tritter recognized stubbornness; the man would take the secrets he felt were important to the grave, and this one was important. Tritter shrugged. "Fine. Don't tell me." His breath misted in the ever chilling night air, and the mist curled around him like smoke from a dragon's mouth. House watched him, his body still tense and adrenaline still coursing through his veins from worry about Cuddy, yet he stood straight and still. "I'll just the prosecutor subpoena her medical records while we're working on your DUI charge."

House's face twisted into a snarl. "You have no right," he took a few steps forward, clenching his hands into fists.

Tritter gave him a smug half smile. "You want to hit me, don't you. It's eating at you, to just pop me in the mouth." He was at a height of House, so he could easily level a sly look at the man shaking with anger in front of him. He held his arms out to his sides, inviting him. "Go ahead. Do it." The smug grin never left his features.

House wanted to. He could feel a red, driving need to wipe that damn smug smile off that asshole's face, but a small voice told him not to. He sneered at Tritter. "You're not worth an assault on a cop charge," he spat. "You're not worth the mud on my Nike's." He turned, wishing he had his cane, and he limped unaided to the double doors of the concrete building.

"Go ahead. Check up on her." Tritter said, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'll be out here, waiting." House refused to take his bait, but he did hesitate. Tritter sly grin grew a little wider. "I hope you have a script for those pills in your pocket." House ground his teeth together, then shoved his hand his pocket. He pulled out the pill bottle and tossed it to the smug bastard. Adrenaline and endorphins were keeping the pain low now, but when that wore off, it was going to be hell. The bastard examined the bottle, then tossed it back to him. "I'll still be waiting. We have things to talk about."

House bit his lip, then stepped inside, leaving Tritter in the cold.

He didn't have to walk far. Chang was waiting for him just inside the entrance way. She lifted her eyebrows at him, but didn't ask. House studied her face. "She miscarried," he felt cold, empty fingers grip his insides and twist, feeling shame and sadness at uttering those words.

Chang swallowed, then nodded. "The ultrasound confirmed. We're going to have to perform a D and C."

House bit his lip, knowing what that meant, then nodded. "Why are you telling me?" he asked, hoarsely.

Chang blinked. "She has you listed as her emergency contact." At his dumbfounded look, she had to ask. "You didn't know that?" He shook his head, mute. "As you know, the procedure is..."

He waved his hand, annoyed. "I know what a D and C is."

She took a breath. We're going to give her a general. The risk of complication is low, but..."

He nodded. "I get it. Go. Do."

She nodded. "I'm sorry." She turned and walked towards the exam room.

He watched her retreating back, finally letting the fatigue of the night wash over him. He leaned against the wall, letting his shoulders droop and his neck sag. "So am I," he muttered. "So am I."

A half an hour later, he felt a tap on his shoulder. "You have to move your car."

He looked up, and he saw Tritter standing behind him. "Blow me," came his reply, and he closed his eyes again, settling back into the hard plastic chair.

"You're blocking the entrance, and we need to talk. Kill two birds with one stone." He deliberately kept his voice reasonable.

House sneered, but was emotionally and physically exhausted. He had kept turning over the night, and the past few months, in his mind. Guilt was eating at him, and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off. "Fine," he bit out, fishing for his pills in his pocket. Scowling and keeping eye contact with Tritter, he dry swallowed two pills in defiance. Only then, he heaved himself up, and he stiffly limped to the hospital's doors.

He climbed into the driver's seat of his old beater, gently coaxing the engine to life. He paused as he heard the passenger's side door open, and Tritter slid in next to him. "What the hell?" House exploded. "Get the hell out of my car!"

Tritter gazed around clutted interior. Old perscription bottles, wadded up fast food wrappers, and empty drink cups were scattered on the floor boards. Books and a bookbag were tossed haphazardly in the back seat. A crowbar was stuck in the pouch that was stitched into the driver's side seat. "Nice car," he drawled, a dry smirk forming on his features.

"It's mine," House snorted, putting the transmission in gear. "You can't have it."

Tritter watched as House put pressure on the gas petal. "So," he began. "Was the baby yours?"

House head whipped around so fast he heard a faint pop. He nearly ran the car up on the curb. "How did you find..." His eyes narrowed. "You talked to an orderly."

All he got in reply was a wolfish smile. "Orderlies talk," Tritter simply said.

House sighed. "No," he lied. "The kid wasn't mine." He pulled into a parking spot, and killed the engine. He sat there for a moment, waiting for Tritter to weigh in on his response.

"If it wasn't yours, then why all the secrecy?" He blinked at Tritter, then abruptly reached over, opening the glove box. He pulled out a pack of Camels. He drew out a long, white cylinder, and he popped the brown filter into his mouth. A flick of the lighter, and the acrid smell of burning tobacco filled the interior of the car. "You mind not doing that?" Tritter asked, mildly.

"I didn't invite you in. My car, my rules," House informed him in between puffs. Holding the cigarette in between his thumb and middle finger, he sighed. "Believe it or not, I respect her; a helluva lot. She asked me to keep it quiet, and I didn't see any reason not to." He put the cancer stick into his mouth, and he took a few more puffs.

"Ah," Tritter commented. "So, you respected her wishes because you're a purely altruistic person?"

House shot him a look. "No, I did it because it wasn't anybody's business. Plus, it wasn't really worth much. I couldn't get anything out of it." Tritter smirked, and House shrugged. "I admit I'm an asshole. So what's your problem."

After a long moment, Tritter nodded. "Okay." At House's surprised look, shrugged. "I don't believe a word of it, but, I can't throw you in jail for what you lied about. She's genuinely ill, so I won't charge you with anything." He opened the car door. "But," he paused, planting his right foot firmly on the asphalt outside the car. "I will be watching you. And you will screw up. Addicts always do." At those words, he left the car, leaving House in darkness and silence.

[H] [H] [H]

It was nearly sundown when he finally pulled back in front of her dark house. His cell phone had rang throughout the day, mostly calls from Wilson. He didn't answer any of them that morning, preferring to nervously pace the halls of Trenton General, haunting it like a ghost. She was being held for a while for observation, and she had requested no visitors. Not even himself.

He only left to grab a sandwich from the Subway up the street. Finally, around four o'clock, he got the message; she was going to be released. She had a follow-up appointment scheduled for two days from then, but until then, she was on her own.

She looked so frail, he thought as he helped her into his car. She thanked him quietly, but her eyes haunted him. The eyes that sparked with so many types of emotions were now dull and listless, like weathered granite rather than hot steel. She sighed, moving gingerly, then nestled against the soft fabric that upholstered his seats.

"You hungry?" he asked, breaking the dense silence.

She shook her head. "No," she said quietly. She reached across the center console to grip his hand. "Just take me home," she whispered. "I just want to curl up in my bed with a cup of tea, okay?"

He nodded, a short jerk of his head. "Okay."

"Thank you," she squeezed his hand with emphasis.

"I didn't do anything," he mumbled, his belly roiling with guilt.

She shook her head. "You were there for me. That was all I could ask for, and more." She started to pull her hand away, but he caught it, and he brought it up to his face, caressing the soft palm with the wiry growth on his cheeks. He pressed his lips to her palm, letting his lips brush over her skin. He then lowered her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, letting her know that he was there.

They held hands, careful not to break the connection between them, for the entire drive back to Princeton.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Chapter Twenty**_

_**Hell or High Water**_

Snow was falling softly outside of the large picture window, coating the bare trees and evergreen bushes that landscaped her parents house. Since Julie had married a Christian, her family was celebrating both Christmas and Hanukkah, and her nieces and nephew were running around, excited.

They were visiting her parents, who, during the winter, lived in northern Jersey. Her mother had been thinking about selling the home that they had lived in for nearly 40 years and moving to Florida, like all their other snowbird friends, but with her father's cancer diagnosis, she had stalled those plans. Their summer home in Rhode Island had been shut up for the winter, and now, they were staying in the house that Lisa and Julie had grew up in 9 months out of the year.

Cuddy was staring out the window, watching the kids build snowmen and snow forts in the fast falling snow, all bundled up against the cold. The two older children threw handfuls of snow at each other, and Lacey waddled around them, picking up snow in her small hands, trying to join in on the big kids fun. Julie's husband, Tom, joined in with the kids while Julie looked on, happy.

It tore Cuddy up.

It had only been about a month since her miscarriage. She had healed, physically, but emotionally, she was still fragile. As far as she knew, the only two people who knew were House and Tritter, who was waging total war on House, trying to bust him for _something._ House being House, he had given the determined detective all the evidence he needed, and he was digging his own grave. Both she and Wilson were trying to to stop him from self-destructing, but it was much harder.

He had taken the miscarriage hard, much harder than she would have ever thought he would. She didn't know if he had wanted to be a father, but now that chance had slipped through his fingers. They had tiptoed around each other for the past month, each of them trying to figure out what the other was going to do, if they were going to move on.

Moving on. It was easier said than done. Especially for her and House. Neither of them bought into the platitudes that were so easily given by people, because they both know that platitudes were just nice lies.

Not that House had been making things easy for her. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, blinking back tears that never seemed to fall, but were always right there. She had been going on like it was business as usual, but it felt like a huge chunk of her soul had been ripped out, and not filled in. The nights grew ever colder and darker, and it was only there, in the bitter watches of the night, that she mourned the loss of that tiny life betrayed and lost by her own treacherous body. If she hadn't been running interference for House against Tritter, she would have had more time to dwell on it. In a twisted way, she was grateful for the distraction, but she was also fearful at how far House had fallen, and how much farther he could go. She suppressed a shudder, and she tried to block that from her mind at the moment.

So she sat in front of the large picture window, torturing herself by watching what she couldn't seem to obtain. She didn't even hear the soft footsteps over the carpet. She looked up, and her mother handed her a glass of red wine. "They're beautiful, aren't they," her mother commented, noticing where her eldest daughter's gaze was held.

Lisa looked at her mother, then turned back to the happy family moment being acted out in the yard. "Yeah. Mikey's looking like his dad more and more every day."

"He is." There was a moment's pause as they sipped at their wine. "You don't have to be so envious of them, you know," her mother commented. Lisa turned to her mother, her mouth dropping open, her mind rapidly working to find a retort. "You should be proud of your own achievements."

"I _am_ proud of my achievements," Lisa protested. She should have known; her mother was a take-no-prisoners kind of person, much like a certain doctor she knew.

"You're carrying on the family career; that's important," her mother continued.

"So is having a family," Lisa shot back.

Something odd flashed in her daughter's eyes, so her mother put down her wine glass, it was time to stop beating around the bush. She took Lisa's hand in both her own, and at first, Lisa was surprised at the contact. "When was the miscarriage?" her mother asked softly, keeping her voice as understanding as possible.

At first Lisa was shocked. She'd been confidant in the fact she'd been keeping her mother in the dark about her personal life since she was a teenager. She was still certain that her mother didn't know she'd lost her virginity at sixteen to Wayne Johnson in the backseat of Wayne's car on the Forth of July. She hadn't let it slip that she had smoked pot recreationally throughout her years as an undergrad in college, even experimenting with cocaine once, a mistake she had never made again. Her mom hadn't know she had started drinking at seventeen, trying to fit in with her friends who didn't have the drive or ambition as she did, but taught her how to party, a skill she utilized to her fullest while in college.

So here her mom was, holding her hand, and asking her about a miscarriage that she had thought only two other people and her OB had knowledge of.

Her jaw must have dropped all the way, because her mother took a deep breath. "You practically have it written on your face, honey," her mom said softly. "And I knew that you wanted a child; I could see it on your face when you saw Julie's family. It's okay to want that, just remember, if you want it all, the fall from the top is twice as far."

Realization dawned on Lisa's face. "You miscarried," she said softly.

Her mother nodded. "Twice. You should have one older sibling, and one much younger sibling. It nearly killed me and your father both times," she said in the same soft tone as Lisa. "You'll eventually heal, but you'll never forget them, and it'll make you appreciate the children you have even more." Her mother pursed her lips slightly. "Who was the father?"

"Nobody," Lisa murmured.

Her mother arched an elegantly plucked eyebrow. She was silent for a moment, then gently, she told her, "you always were a strong woman, Lisa. You're the first female doctor in our family, that's not easy footsteps to follow in. I tried to instill in both you and your sister that the world was your oyster; all you had to do was pry it open, and that took effort. Your sister just chose to pry it open a different way than you. It's not wrong, it's different."

She watched her daughter's guarded reaction. Finally Lisa sighed, quaffing down the last of her wine. "I always wanted a family, Mom. It's just that I accomplished everything else first, always telling myself that there was still time. Now, that hourglass is running down, and I'm afraid that I won't accomplish it." There, she had done it. She had just vocalized her worst fear to her mother. The secret of all secrets she wished to keep hidden.

And what did her mother do, she laughed, a rich, throaty laugh that mirrored her daughter's own. At first, Lisa was affronted, but then her mother drew her into a fierce embrace. "Lisa," she smiled widely at her daughter as they broke apart. "If there's one thing I have absolutely no doubt of, it's that you'll never fail to achieve your goals. And if you set this as one of your goals, then you will achieve it, come hell or high water." She smiled at her. "I just wish you'd accomplish it with that nice Doctor Wilson you've told me about. He sounds like quite a keeper!"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. _A three times divorced keeper_, she thought to herself, suppressing a wine induced giggle. She thought about kissing Wilson, and she had to stifle a series of giggles threatening to well up in her throat. _Kissing him would be like kissing my brother. _She chuckled to herself at the _**Star Wars**_ line.

"Who ever it is," her mother broke her wine-giddy thoughts, "I'm sure he's worth it."

Cuddy sobered quickly. Of that, she wasn't so sure...

[H] [H] [H]

_Christmas Eve, and I'm spending another lousy holiday alone._ House's bourbon soaked thoughts broke through. He sat on his couch, staring blurrily at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. It was cheap whiskey; bottom shelf stuff. Usually he drank top shelf bourbon or scotch. Every once in a while, to mix things up, he'd buy a bottle of Crown, but tonight, it was the cheapest, nastiest shit possible. He'd hopefully make himself so sick from the taste that he wouldn't drink as much as he had been, but that had been wishful thinking.

Wilson wasn't speaking to him, and he was persona non grata at the hospital. The only one who would put up with his sorry ass at the moment was Cuddy, who was dolefully handing out his vicodin prescription, keeping his pain in check. Too bad it didn't do anything to the gnawing emptiness that had started to fill him.

"_You're a mean one, Mister Grinch"_, Boris Karloff rumbled from his television. House looked up, bleary eyed at the screen, trying to focus on what was on. _Ha, _he thought bitterly. _That damn green bastard doesn't have anything on me._ He chucked back another glass of the nasty liquor. He became drunkenly enthralled by the old cartoon, watching how the Grinch redeemed himself._ Maybe that's my problem,_ he thought as he drained the rest of the bottle. _Maybe my heart's three sizes too small, and I'm trying to fill the empty space with liquor._ He laughed out loud at the thought, tears streaming from his eyes. He didn't want to acknowledge the hurt he was feeling, the slow, steady ache in his heart that was eating him from the inside out. His mind suddenly flashed at that image that he'd been trying to drink out of his brain, of Cuddy curled up against the bathtub, her life-less eyes staring at him. The sick feeling hit him hard, and he he stood up to try to make it to the bathroom. As soon as he tried to put weight on his right leg, it gave out from underneath it, and he crumpled to the floor. In a haze of pain and vomit, the only thing he could think of was her gray eyes, mockingly telling him silently _I told you so..._

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy's family gathered around the old cherry wood dinner table. The surface was polished to perfection, but it still showed all the signs that it had been thoroughly used by three generations of the Cuddy family.

Her mother had served a perfect dinner. They didn't keep kosher most of the time, except for high holidays, so tonight, for Christmas Eve, her mother had served a huge ham and turkey, and all the trimmings. They didn't celebrate the religious aspects of the holiday, they just showed their respect to it for Tom's sake, since he and Julie wanted to give their children the option of both worlds, letting them choose when they were older.

Before they started eating, Julie and Tom exchanged a peculiar look. A particular tension seemed to enter the room, and the adults in the room turned and looked at them. Suzie and Micheal were too busy picking on each other, and at two and a half, Lacey was absolutely enthralled at what her older siblings were up to.

Lisa watched them exchange looks again, and suddenly she had a dark feeling at what they were going to announce. "Mom, Dad, guess what?" Julie gushed. "I'm pregnant! Again!" Lisa felt her stomach sink into her abdomen while her parents congratulated Julie.

_Good thing Mom and Dad had plenty of wine_, she thought bitterly as the chants of Mazel tov filled the room. _I'm gonna need it._


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

_**Bah Humbug**_

After dinner, Lisa excused herself to her father's library. She always liked the room, with its rich, plush burgundy carpet and chocolate leather furniture. Her father, though not a medical doctor like his father, or his brothers, was a successful biochemist and retired researcher. His studies had carted him across the world, and occasionally, Lisa had joined him. Three generations of books filled the shelves that lined all four walls, as well as knick-knacks and photos and souvenirs from his travels. He teasingly liked to liken himself a scientific Indiana Jones, always looking for the next breakthrough. The dark walnut tables with the soft lit lamps made the room feel comfortable and cozy. The room itself smelled like leather and paper and brandy. It was heavenly.

She walked slowly around the room, her fingertips brushing the warm, supple leather and cold brass studs. Her eyes scanned the shelves, until her eyes fell on what she was looking for. She pulled the tattered paper back, out of place on the shelf with the large, leather-bound tomes, from its hiding place. She curled up in her favorite chair, the one by the large bay window facing the fireplace, and she began to read, trying to forget the night.

She was three chapters in when she heard the door creek open. She hadn't heard it, caught up in the adventurers of Lewis Carroll's Alice and the strange, imaginative world of Wonderland. It had been her favorite book as a child; on her father had given her when her sister had been born. He had been worried that his eldest daughter would feel put out by the new baby, so, every night, they would read about Alice's adventures. It had increased the bond between them.

Her eyes finally flickered up as he settled in the seat across from her. She favored her mother much more than her father, but she had inherited his stormy gray eyes. She also had his long fingered narrow hands, perfect for working with thin test tubes and sensitive lab equipment, or working with fine surgical tools.

"Hiding again," he smiled. "Escaping like Alice through her rabbit hole?" He looked thinner, and his face was much more haggard than it had been; the chemo treatments had been rough on him.

She slowly closed the book, and she sighed. "You talked to Mom," she sunk back into the chair.

He nodded. "You didn't expect her to _not_ tell me, did you?"

"I didn't want to bother you," she muttered, wishing she could sink farther into her chair. Her mother had always been excellent at guilting her into high achievement, but her father was the best at making her feel like a failure. There was something in those deep gray eyes that made it seemed like he could x-ray her soul. She spoke the most to her mother, but it was her father's approval that she craved. She always wanted to make him proud.

He leaned forward in his chair, and he reached for her hands. "Lisa," he began. "You aren't a bother, my dear. I know I've not been my healthiest these past few months, but don't ever think that you're a burden, on either your mother or me. We care about you, and we worry about you."

"I'm fine, dad," Lisa didn't mean to sound so annoyed, but she didn't want the lecture. She was turning forty in May; the last thing she wanted is for her parents to worry about her.

He paused, watching his daughter, then he nodded. Heavily, he pushed himself out of the chair. "You're always fine, Lisa." He gave her a sad smile, then he left her alone in the room.

She was happy that she didn't drown herself wine at her parents' house. A few minutes after her father left her alone in his den, her phone beeped. She scanned the text message, from Wilson, asking her if she knew where House was. She frowned, knowing that House and Wilson weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. The fact that Wilson had texted her meant something was up.

She snapped the phone shut, and she breathed in deeply. After taking a moment to compose herself, she walked back out into the living room, where her parents and Julie and her family were watching _A Christmas Carol_ on television. Her mother was the first one to notice her hovering in the doorway, her heavy knee-length wool coat already on.. "Is something wrong, Lisa."

Lisa shrugged. "I just received a message from the hospital; they need me to come in."

"On Christmas Eve?" Tom gave her a skeptical look. "Do they just let you off your leash long enough to say hi to friends and family before calling you back?"

Cuddy gave him a brittle smile. "They keep a pillow and bowl of water in my office, too," she responded dryly. She turned back to her parents. "I've gotta go."

"It's okay, dear." Her mother rose, then enveloped her in a hug. "We'll come down sometime next month. Have lunch, okay?"

"Sounds good, Mom." Her father had come over to give her a hug as well. "'Bye, Dad."

"'Bye, honey. Stay safe; they say it snowed more south of us. Give us a call when you get there, okay. We just want to know you got home safe," he said with a weary smile.

"If I don't get home _too_ late," she told him with a small smile. "If not, I'll call you tomorrow." Amidst a chorus of "goodbyes," she tugged on her gloves and headed towards her car. She sat in the cold interior, waiting for it to warm up a bit before traveling back to Princeton. Her emotions warred with each other. She was relieved to be leaving, but she was apprehensive at going back to Princeton to see what trouble House was in. She sighed, her breath no longer misting in the warming air, and before she put her car in reverse, and backed her way out of her parents driveway, she glanced at her purse, where someone had tucked in the tattered copy of Lewis Carroll's book. She smiled sadly, then whispered to the empty car, "thanks, Dad."

[H] [H] [H]

House hated dreams. He had hoped that he had drank enough to keep the demons of the night at bay. He especially hated the realistic ones; the ones that his subconscious used to try to prove a point to him.

That wasn't how it was supposed to work.

_He found himself heading up to the rooftop, a place he hadn't been since Stacy had left, the second time. It had once been his favorite hiding spot, but thanks to his infarction, climbing the stars that lead to the quiet spot had been painful, and so he only came up here on rare occasions._

_This was one of those times, and he felt the need for solitude and quiet reflections. He brushed the snow off of the concrete ledge, and he sat down, staring over the twinkling lights of the city. He didn't know how long he sat up there, thinking back to the past year, and everything that had happened, and everything that he could lose. It was a bitter pill to swallow for such a proud man._

_His butt was numb and he was cold, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He peered out over the edge, and to the hard ground to go. Wouldn't it be easy to just jump, and to cut his ties with everyone in life. To make everyone's life easier..._

_The heavy door opened, drawing him away from those desperate thoughts. He turned, and he saw one of the security officers from the hospital. He tried to think of the guy's name, but was drawing a blank. _

_The guy's bright blue eyes widened. "Sorry," he drawled. "Didn't know that anyone was up here."_

_House narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing up here?" he asked, rubbing his leg absently._

_The tall, bald man smiled back, and he pulled a pack of Marlboro's from his coat pocket. "Smoke break. I can't stand hearing the orderlies bitch about the doctors and staff."_

_House eyed him suspiciously. "Thought it was part of your job to know what was going on in the staff?"_

_He gave House an odd look. "It is, but there are also things I don't need to know. Like how freaky the lab techs in radiology are." He grinned a little. "Did you know that Lewis is a dominatrix?"_

"_Seriously?" The guy, who's name tag read Matthews, offered him a cigarette. House stared at it, then reluctantly accepted it. _

"_Yup. According to the orderlies, Dr. Kaplan in ophthalmology is one of her regular clients."_

"_Sheila Kaplan? This is juicy stuff," House informed him as they took drags off of their respective cigarettes. "Why not learn more. Who knows, you might learn something."_

_Matthews shook his bald head, which was turning read in the cold. "Nope. Such personal details can cloud my judgment on a person. My job is to protect the employees here, you know, not serve as gossip central."_

"_And yet you're sharing with me?" House raised an eyebrow. "Do you know who my best friend is?"_

_Something changed on Matthews face, and he sat on the edge of the ledge opposite from House. "I know you can keep a secret," he said, gazing out at the city and campus skyline._

_House felt the shift, and clenched his jaw shut; this guy knew something, he suddenly realized. "I know about the miscarriage," the man said softly. "And I'm pretty sure about the paternity. What I don't know, is why you have to punish yourself, and Cuddy, by falling right into Tritter's trap."_

"_You don't waste time with bullshit, do you," House snapped._

"_I hate bullshit, and so do you," blue eyes met blue eyes. "I'm not your enemy, but I ain't your friend, either. You hurt her. I don't know if you meant to, but you did, by being the callous, shallow bastard that you are." He took a deep drag of the cigarette. "After you were shot, Cuddy asked the board to install cameras in the doctors' offices." He reached into his coat pocket, and he pulled out a thin black DVD case. "I'm the only one with proof about what you did."_

_House frowned deeply, anger building up. "So, why the hell didn't you turn it in?" he snarled._

_Matthews calmly and grimly met his eyes. "Because I don't think you're an addict," he said simply._

_House's eyes narrowed, and his mind rapidly tried to put the pieces together. "You're a liar," he accused sharply. "You're in love with Cuddy. Too bad, she only has thighs for me."_

_Matthews nodded, and House could see the defeat in his body language. "Yeah," he admitted. "You need to apologize to her. To be a better man. She doesn't deserve you, you know." House ground his teeth together, clenching his fists at his side. "Apologize. She loves you, and you love her, as callous as you are to her." He got up off the ledge, and he disappeared down the stairwell._

Abrupt pounding startled him. "House! House open up!" A female voice cried. He could feel the cold floor under his cheek, and the rancid smell of vomit wafted into his nostrils. His mouth tasted foul, and his tongue felt thick and fuzzy, like he had been licking garbage soaked cotton balls.

He tried to will his body up, but his limbs wouldn't respond. He panicked a little, and he tried to cry out, but there seemed to be a brain-body disconnect happening. He was still grasping what was going in when the door burst open. His ears rang with her shriek. "Oh my GOD, HOUSE!

Ugggh. Okay, it wasn't his most coherent response. He felt her warm hands touch his cool cheeks, and he finally willed his eyes to open. His vision was blurry, but after a few blinks, he realized who it was, cradling his head. "Cuddy," he softly moaned.

"House!" Tears streaked down her cheeks. She sat back on her heels, looking at the aftermath. "What happened?" she gasped, seeing the broken bottle on the floor.

"One man party," he groaned, sitting up. A wave of dizziness and nausea flowed over him, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "You're a little too late to join in." He opened his eyes. "Thought you were visiting the 'rents."

"I _was_," she stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. "I got a message that you might be in a sensitive spot, so I came down to check it out." He held out his arm, and she pulled him to his unsteady feet.

He swallowed, then nodded. "Thanks," he grunted, gruffly. "Now you can leave."

Her hand rested gently on his biceps, and she looked up at him with glittering gray eyes. There it was, on the tip of her tongue; all she had to do was ask, but cowardice won out, and she nodded. "Okay," she said hoarsely, and an opportunity was lost. She slipped out the door, and hurt and anger welled up with in his belly. He slammed his fist into the wall of his living room, causing the artwork hanging on the walls to rattle. He pulled his hand out of the hole in the wall, upset at the lost chance.

But he had no one to blame but himself.


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N - Sorry for the delay. I had a busy (and stressful) Thanksgiving holiday, as well as been sick. Excuses, I know, but anyway, here's the next chapter. It gave me headaches, and I'm still not completely happy with it. But, it moves the story forward...a little...just not the direction you guys might think it should go in. The only thing I can say is that there is a light at the end of the tunnel...eventually**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Two**_

_**Fork in the Road  
**_

* * *

Time passed slowly that winter, as if the world froze time itself along with the land. Lisa Cuddy walked her hallways, but with a sense of lost loneliness, something she had not felt in quite a long time. Quietly, she mourned both her lost child and her lost relationship. Yes, she had finally realized, despite all of her intents and purposes, it had been a relationship, and she had been happy; happier than she had been in a long, long time.

At the hospital, she tired to put those thoughts out of her mind. Tritter had never found his definitive evidence against House, though, both she and Wilson knew that he had forged those signatures, but neither of them ever admitted it, even though both of their lives had become living hells.

Oh, they didn't have actual proof that he had done it, and he had never admitted it, either, but they knew him, and in knowing him, they had come to the eventual conclusion that he had committed the crime. They had hoped that it would give House a wake up call, make him realize that even the slightest actions have consequences.

Cuddy had lived in fear that her secret would be revealed, but surprisingly, Tritter didn't use that against her. He had made some sly insinuations, but he had kept it between them. He was curious, she knew, about what had happened that night, but he never brought it up. Apparently, her secret was safe.

Exhausted after a particularly long day in January, she left her warm office and stepped into the brutally cold winter air. A bitter wind gusted through the parking lot, but no snow had fallen since the Christmas Eve storm. She took a deep breath, the sharp air hitting her lungs, clearing her mind. She exhaled, and a thick cloud of mist formed in front of her face. She smiled, remembering when she was a small child, waiting for the bus to take her to school, and she and her friends had pretended that they were smoking while their hot breath misted in the cold air.

"Thought you parked in the garage," a warm drawl startled her from behind. She turned, and she saw her head of security, Matthews, pulling on a knit cap over his reddening bald head.

She gave him a small smile. "I did. I just wanted to walk around a bit before going home." She laughed a little. "I've been sitting at my desk all day, and I wanted to stretch out before sitting in my car for the drive home."

"I reckon I can understand that," he nodded at her. "Since you're up for walking, do you want to walk over to that coffee shop a few blocks away. I reckon I can use a cup o' joe. I'm feeling a might sluggish." He gave her a small grin.

She smiled up at the taller man. "Okay," she nodded, "let's go."

They walked across the campus, the bitter cold chill of winter trying to bite through their close, and mostly successful on hers. Her wool coat only fell to mid-thigh, so her stocking covered legs were mostly exposed to the cold. Matthews noticed that. "Open-toed heels do you no good in winter," he drawled.

She scoffed a little. "Tell me about it." She tossed her head back, her own knit hat covering her ears. "You guys get off lucky; we make sacrifices to the gods of fashion."

"It's a cruel and unfair world," he laughed as they made their way to the brightly lit coffee shop. It was pretty crowded, being a hub for university students and staff, as well as hospital staff. The barristas were working rapidly to make orders, but there was still a short line, and Cuddy and Matthews filed in it dutifully.

"You're looking better these days," he drawled easily. At her startled look, he clarified, "You were looking so tired and frail during the whole House fiasco," he shrugged. "Not that I blame you. That cruel bastard was like a dog with a bone, terrifying most of the staff. Bastard," he rolled his eyes and spit out the word bitterly.

"Which one, House or Tritter?" Cuddy responded dryly.

Before he could answer, they had shuffled their way up to the counter, and they placed their respective orders. When they got ready to pay, he stayed her hand. "This one's on me," he drawled. At her puzzled and suspicious look, he shrugged. "My mama would beat me with her rolling pin if she found out that I accompanied a lady to a coffee shop and didn't pay."

"Rolling pin," Cuddy choked out a laugh. "Are you for real?"

"Reckon I am," he gave her a little wink. "And yes, rolling pin. Mama owns a bakery a little outside of Shreveport." They collected their cups, and they made their way to an empty table, one of the few in the cafe.

"Louisiana," she drew out, trying to pronounce it like he did, loo-ee-zee-ahn-nah. By his amused smirk, she wasn't doing it right. "I knew you had an accent," she rambled on, "I just couldn't place it."

"Well," he sipped his coffee, "I was actually born in Dallas. We moved to Shreveport when my dad died, to be close to my mama's folks. I joined the Air Force at eighteen, and I've lived all over since."

"So," she sipped her own drink. "Why'd you pick Jersey to settle down in?" she asked, suddenly fascinated by the man in front of her.

He sighed. "My fiance was from Trenton. After my last tour, she told me she didn't want to be married to a military man who spent most of his time away from his family. I didn't reenlist, and I found a security job there." He paused, playing with his cup. "Then, it becomes the cliched story. I came home one night, found her with someone else, yada, yada, yada.

Well, I actually liked Jersey, but I didn't care for Trenton much after that, so I looked for different jobs from around the state. Found yours, applied, and you know the rest of the story," he gave her an easy grin. "What about you. Smart, sexy lady, you must have plenty of offers from around the country. Why'd you pick Jersey?"

She gave him a smirk. "Smart? Sexy? I think you're hitting on me," she lifted an eyebrow.

"Nope," then he grinned "Well, maybe a little. Ain't nothin' but the truth, if you don't mind me sayin'" he turned on the accent and gave her a little wink. "Don't mean my question ain't legit."

"And your still single, with that accent and charm?" she smiled back at him. "And, to answer your question, my family's from Jersey. I went to college in Michigan, then, after a residency in Chicago, I came back here. I became the youngest Dean of Medicine to head a hospital." She took a drink of her cooling coffee.

"Never married?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Nope."

He nodded, then stared into the caramel colored depths of his coffee, swirling the mug a little. "You mind if I ask you a fairly personal question." She tilted her head, but didn't respond. "I mean, more personal than we've been talkin' about?"

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "I suppose," she said, thoughtfully. "But I reserve the right to not answer."

"Fair enough," he nodded. "I mean no offense, but it's been digging at me for a while, like a tick." She cracked a nervous smile at his gesture, and he returned it, thoughtfully pausing while he grasped for words. "I don't mean to be so blunt," he began, "but I gotta ask." He raised his eyes to look at her, his dark cobalt blue eyes meeting her stormy gray ones reassuringly. "Was the baby House's?"

She froze, "how did you..."

"Don't be takin' no offense," he drew out, "and I ain't gonna tell anybody." He toyed with his napkin. "You pay me to keep your staff and patients safe, and in me doin' that, I watch, and observe. I notice things that most folk don't." She noticed how he slipped in his deep drawl when he was nervous, though he really showed no other outward signs of being uneasy. He kept his gaze focused on her, gauging her reaction at his explanation. "No one else knew," he assured her in a low voice.

She swallowed, the coffee suddenly curdling in her stomach. She closed her eyes, and whispered one word. "Yes."

He nodded. "I won't bring it up again, ma'am," he assured her. Her hand was still resting on the table, and he reached over, and he held it tightly. "I'm sorry."

She found his warm grip reassuring. He had broad, large hands, thick callouses rising on his fingers and palms. His nails were blunt, and the palms were heavily lined, as if he did a lot of work with those hands. "Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

He gave her a small smile, then nodded. "You wanna go to a movie sometime?" he asked, keeping his voice innocent. Maybe throw in a dinner, too?" His full lips turned up into a grin, and his dark bronze skin seemed to glow in the cafe's lighting.

Her mouth formed a small "o" shape. "I'm...I'm not ready," she shook her head, blinking fast, so he couldn't see the tiny tears that stung her eyes. _Thank god for the crappy dim cafe lighting_, she thought, biting her lip.

His smile became bigger. "No worries," he assured her. "How about just as friends?" He lifted a thick, dark eyebrow in question.

She thought about it, her manicured nails tapping nervously on the wood table top. "As friends," she nodded. "I need a few more friends," she gave him a small smile.

"Me too," he grinned, sipping his coffee.

As they made their plans, they didn't see a tall, dark figure limping by the cafe. Greg House had been haunting the halls of PPTH for the past few weeks. He was limping towards a small bar not far from the hospital, prepared to once again drink himself in a stupor. He normally wouldn't have peered into the small coffee shop window, but something caught his eye, and he turned towards the softly lit window.

Through his reflection, he saw her sitting at the table with the chief of security, whatever his name was. They were laughing and smiling, and holding hands across the table. He felt a tightening in his chest, and a lead weight drop in his belly. He stopped focusing on them, and instead, focused on his reflection in the window. He looked thin and haggard, with deep, dark circles around his eyes. His hair and scruffy beard was threaded with even more gray, and his face had even more lines. He looked old and tired. His eyes flickered back to her and the security guy.

She seemed so...happy. Genuinely happy. Happy like he had never made her.

With a heavy heart, he made himself walk away, his teeth clenched together tightly. How many times in the past had he hurt her? Had he made her cry? His subconscious was right, he supposed. He didn't deserve her, and he would never make her happy. He would just make her miserable, and take her down to his miserable level.

No, it was better like this, for both of them. He didn't need to weight anybody down. He thrust his hand into the pocket of his heavy winter coat, the other one gripping the handle of his cane tightly. It hadn't snowed since Christmas, but there were still some slick spots on the sidewalk, and he picked his way carefully, his breath misting in the cold air. His nose and cheeks stung from the bitter wind, and he sniffed in the cold, dry air.

He pushed open the door of the bar, and the bartender nodded at him. He took a seat, and he handed the bartender his keys. "Bourbon," he croaked out. "And leave the bottle. When it's empty, call me a cab." He slapped a fifty dollar bill on the counter.

The bartender, a shaggy looking man in his mid-thirties, swallowed nervously, then nodded, and he complied to House's wishes.

**_[H] [H] [H]_**

House limped into the hospital the next day around noon, looking haggard and worn. He didn't go to his office first, instead, he slipped into Wilson's office.

"I'm with a patie..." Wilson grumbled when he heard the door open, then he looked up. At first, he thought a homeless man had managed to wander up to his office, but the cane was House's, as was the limp. He apologized to the thirty-something woman sitting across from him, and he stepped out into the hallway. "What the hell happened to you?" Wilson asked, aghast at his friends appearance. "Are you...are you still wearing the same clothes as yesterday?" He took a step back. "And you smell awful."

"That's what happens when you pass out and you urinate on yourself." Wilson took another step back, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. House ran his hands through his already rumpled hair. "I need help," he said quietly. "I need to check in to rehab." Wilson's jaw dropped, but House continued on. "I don't want to be miserable anymore.

It took a few minutes of processing, but Wilson nodded. "What do you need?" he asked, willing to do anything for his friend through this, whatever this was.

_**Alright, don't be afraid to tell me what you think, good or bad!**_

_**Thanks for reading!  
**_


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N - Sorry, not totally happy with this one, but it sloooooowly moves us forward...at a glacial pace, which is the pace that this story seems to be setting for itself.**_

_**Anyway, thanks for reading.**_

_**Also, with two more reviews, I'll have tied the most reviews I've ever received on a story. I just want to take a quick moment to thank not just the folks who review, but to everyone who's read this story (or, any of my works). You're all special, but the folks who leave reviews, you deserve special thanks. Your comments and feedback really get me through, you know. thank you so very much! You all have no idea how much that means to me!  
**_

**_Chapter Twenty-Three_**

**_Routines_**

**_

* * *

_**

Hell. He was in hell.

The pain was crippling, as was the nausea. The anti-nausea drugs they were giving him were useless, as he had spent most of the afternoon purging the meager contents of his almost empty stomach, bent over the rim of the toilet bowl. His t-shirt and button down over shirt were both soaked in sweat, and sweat dripped from his brow and off the end of his nose.

Blindly reaching for the lever, he spit the foul contents of his mouth into the bowl, then flushed. He scooted back, his chest heaving as he pressed the back of his head against the cool wall. He felt like he had come down with the worst case of the flu he'd ever had, and his entire body felt like it was on fire with a fever. He pressed his forehead to the heels of his hands, dreading the motion of getting up.

All this, for the sake of unrequited love.

A knock on the door sounded like a cannon going off just by his ear. "Dr. House?" the gruff voice of the attending nurse on the floor asked, before sticking his head into the private room. "You have a visitor."

"Damn it," House breathed under his breath. He didn't want to see anyone, and, perhaps the most important, he didn't want anyone to see him like this, sweaty and sick. He used the sink to hoist himself to his unsteady feet, pressing his body against the wall for support. He shakily sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to calm both his roiling stomach, and the intense pain that seemed to come from all over. His entire body hurt, like he had been hit by a car. He turned the faucet on, splashing some of the blissfully cool water over his face, cupping some of it into his hands and rinsing out his foul mouth.

"Dr. House?" the man he had come to call Voldemort repeated. House snorted, ducking his entire head underneath the cold, running water, relishing the cool trickle of it along his heated flesh. He took in another deep breath, and he looked at himself in the mirror. "It's go time," he told his haggard looking reflection. To Voldemort, he called, "coming!" Then he limped out of the room, and toward the visitors area, not looking forward to whoever the hell wanted to meet with him at this moment.

[H] [H] [H]

"We need House," Cameron's voice brokered no argument, but Foreman was going to try anyway.

"The man is sick," he grumbled.

"Because of his own problems," Cameron shot back. "This guy shouldn't die because our boss is a selfish, drug addicted bastard." Her words were harsh.

"Yeah, and he's not going to get better by us forcing a case on him," Chase argued, his accent thicker with frustration.

"Do you want to spend your day in the Clinic?" Cameron shot back. "Look, we can solve this..."

"Yeah," Foreman rolled his eyes. "You won us over with that argument, but now, we gotta go get House to help us." He kept his face impassive. "The man is in detox; he can barely function."

She was silent for a moment. "All we need to do is ask a question."

"And, after that, they'll be another question, and another, and pretty soon, we'll be running full blown differentials." Chase folded his arms across his chest, frowning at her. "He needs to get better, and us running to him for advice won't do it."

Cameron stared at both of them. "So," she huffed. "You're both against me." They nodded, and she blinked, not believing that they would ever stand up to her. She thought that they would understand that they, and House, needed this. Needed the puzzles. "Fine," she said, getting up.

"Where are you going?" Chase asked, as he and Foreman also rose to their feet.

She tossed them a look over her shoulder, flicking her ponytail back. "I'm going to talk to Cuddy."

They all marched down to the Dean of Medicine's office, Chase and Foreman arguing with Cameron the entire time. "We can't bother him," Chase kept protesting to her deaf ears. The elevator ride was tense, but they all managed to make it to the Dean's office. Cuddy's new personal assistant tried to protest their entrance to her office, but Cameron practically ran her over, swinging the wooden doors open. Chase managed to sheepishly apologize to the poor young woman, who stared at them wide eyed. She just knew she was going to lose her job over this.

Cuddy was on the phone with a donor, trying to procure some extra funding to remodel the children's ICU. She nearly dropped the phone as the doors burst open, and House's fellows burst through. Cameron opened her mouth to say something, but Cuddy gave her a dark look and held up her hand, palm out. Cameron's mouth remained open, but no sound came out, and Foreman and Chase exchanged looks, both smirking a little.

"Thank-you so much, Mr. Douglass. Of course we'll put a plaque up when the remodel is complete. I'm so happy we were able to help you son and wife. Thank you again." She paused, smiling a little. "Of course. We'll be more than happy to. You're very generous." She paused again. "Thank you. Goodbye." With a heavy sigh, she hung up the phone, composing herself. She gave each one of the fellows a dark look. "What's this about."

"We need House's help on a case," Cameron blurted out.

Cuddy gave her a confused look. "What case?"

"Some schmuck she picked up in the E.R.," Foreman snorted. He glared at Cameron. "The man is ill. The last thing he needs is us bugging him about some charity case you picked up."

"House is not sick; he's in rehab. And House can help him!" Cameron's voice rose.

"Stop it!" Cuddy's authoritative voice broke over the argument. She glared at both of the fellows. "You two are doctors, not three year olds." She made a beckoning motion with her hand. "Give me the file."

Cameron sighed, and she shifted nervously. After hesitating for several seconds, she reluctantly crossed the room and handed Cuddy the folder. Cuddy browsed it, pursing her lips. After several seconds of thick silence, she sighed. "I will go and speak to House about this." Cameron and Foreman opened their mouths to argue, but she silenced them with a look. "If, and that's a big if, he feels up to it, I will let him take the case. I'm not going to force him into doing anything. He's trying to get healthy right now; that's the most important thing." She gave each of the fellows a piercing look, letting them know that her word was final.

The fellows nodded, then they shuffled out the door. "He's only in rehab because he almost went to jail," Cameron muttered, pouting.

"Isn't our problem." Chase shoved his hands into his lab coat's pockets. "It's Cuddy's call; she's House's boss."

"Exactly," Foreman agreed.

"It'll be different," Cameron said, as if thinking aloud. "A clean House."

Foreman and Chase snickered a little. "I don't give it three months," Chase declared.

"Willing to put money on that?" Cameron smirked a little at him.

"I am." Foreman hit the up arrow for the elevator. "And I don't think he'll last a month clean. It's just a show."

"A show?" Cameron repeated. "For who?"

The two men exchanged a knowing glance, before answering in unison. "Cuddy."

[H] [H] [H]

House idly scratched at his beard. "Guy's body doesn't know the difference between hot and cold." He twisted his lips into a contemplative look. "Could be interesting," he mumbled, his bloodshot eyes never leaving the file.

"You don't have to take the case," Cuddy began hesitantly. "I mean, if you're not feeling up to it," she trailed off, the last word of the sentence barely audible.

He shook his head, his left hand picking at the hospital bracelet on his right wrist. "Nope. His eyes flickered up. "This is just the distraction I need." She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "I'll take it. Tell the kiddies to get their asses up here. We've got a DDX to run."

She hesitated, then she nodded. "Okay."

His eyebrows shot up. "Okay?" I'm here to get clean, and I tell you I want to run a DDX, and all you say is 'okay?'"

She swallowed, and he watched her throat move up and down with the motion. "Whatever gets you better, House."

He blinked at her. "Okay." She gave him a little nod, then she stood up to leave. "How's your new boytoy?" he asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

She froze, then looked at him in puzzlement. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, your southern fried Rambo-wannabe." She blinked at him again. "The one you were gushing over and flirting with at the coffee shop last week."

Her jaw dropped. "I'm not seeing Spencer," she sputtered out, a little shocked he knew that. "He's just a friend."

"Friend with benefits?" The last word was said loudly and with inflection, and she felt her cheeks heat. "You seem to be switching daddys-to-be pretty damn fast. Does _Spencer_ know of your master plan, or do you plan to trap him."

Something inside her snapped a little. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed, her eyebrows knitting together in fury. "And it's none of your business, not anymore." She scoffed a little, then sneered. "Motherhood just isn't in the cards for me. Thanks for bringing it up." She took a deep breath, calming down. "I'll send your team up."

She exited the ward, trying to maintain her dignity. She sent a quick page to the team, letting them know House was willing to see them. Then she retreated to her special hidden spot, inside the deserted stairwell, taking a moment to shed tears that she didn't think she could shed anymore. After a few moments, she stood up, brushing off her skirt. She'd had her pity party, and now it was time to get to work. There would be more time to deal with House's slings and barbs later, she thought as she rolled her shoulders back.

After all, Dragon-ladies didn't cry at work.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter Twenty-Four**_

_**Left Behind**_

The wind was cold against his skin, fingers of chilly air working their way down through the collar of his heavy wool coat. He shivered a little, but maintained his vigil, watching as people in underarmor and sweats jogged by, their breath misting in the cold air. The wooden table top under his butt was cold, and the chill was seeping in through the well worn denim of his jeans, but he continued to watch, and think.

The bottle of vicodin weighed heavily in his pocket; his first prescription since getting out of rehab. The pain in his thigh had screamed at him for nearly a month, after different pain management protocols failed over and over again to keep it under control. Each would work for anywhere from a few hours to a few days, and he decided that the physical therapists at the hospital were, in fact, hell's rejects determined to torture him. He'd yet to find one that didn't leave him nearly in tears by the end of the session.

He rubbed at his face, his beard growing in a little thicker than he usually let it. His cheeks and nose tingled in the cold air, but he couldn't bring himself to leave; the park brought him needed solace. His eyes followed a college student as she jogged past him, she herself not giving him a second look, but he felt a jolt of envy as she ran past, her legs working perfectly and obviously pain free. With a heavy sigh, he thrust his hands in his pockets, and he leaned back on the hard wooden picnic table, and he stared up at the cold, cloudless winter sky, wondering what was next.

He was due for Clinic duty in an hour, but he had decided that he wasn't going to go. He'd had enough of wiping crotches and dealing with stuffy noses and over bearing parents. The last patient he had seen in the clinic was a pregnant sixteen year old, who's mother was convinced that "dear little Julie would never go out and do something like that", and that the teen's morning sickness was just a three month stomach bug. Even with a confirming ultra sound, the woman was still utterly in denial about her daughter's condition, demanding a second opinion. No thanks, he'd stay out here and freeze to death before he went back to the Clinic for the day.

Smiling to himself, he had a thought, and he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. A few quickly pressed buttons later, he slipped the piece of plastic back in his pocket, and he waited, watching the pale blue sky. Finally, he closed his eyes, relishing the peace of the place.

"You texted?" a familiar voice startled him out of his relaxation, and he opened his eyes, finding Wilson standing at the end of the table, watching him with a frown and a mischievously lifted eyebrow.

"What took you so long," House mumbled, stretching out. "I texted you about an hour ago."

"Forty-five minutes ago." Wilson shot back, correcting him. "And it takes twenty minutes to walk to this place, you know."

"So?" House lifted his own eyebrow. "That only explains twenty minutes. What about the other twenty five minutes?"

Wilson held his hands out to the sides of his body, rolling his eyes. "I had a patient. _Some_ of us have work to do," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "So this is where you've been hiding."

"I come, I wait, and I watch," he said with a small smirk, gazing out over the landscape, locked in Winter's chill.

"Watch what?" Wilson asked, confused as a group of girls came running past. Then realization hit him. "You ogle college girls out here?" he sighed, rubbing at his face with his hands. "You really are a dirty old man, you know."

"Better than wiping crotches in the clinic," he snorted, settling back. "Also, it's a perfect hiding spot from Cuddy," he admitted. "Not many would look for me out here."

"True," Wilson mused, surveying the landscape. "Cuddy's looking for you, by the way."

House sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. "Let her look," he said, morosely. "This'll be the last place she'd look for me."

Wilson shivered as a gust of wind blew his coat back. "She's worried about you, you know," he pulled his coat closer around him, hunching down in it a little.

House gave him a dark look. "She shouldn't be," he said, curtly.

Wilson frowned, then looked at his friend closer. "What is going on between you two?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing!" House exploded, startling a few birds in the trees above and a jogger running by, causing the man to stumble before moving on. House hopped off the bench, and began to pace in an agitated way. "Nothing," he said in a calmer voice, "is going on between the She-Devil of PPTH and me."

Wilson blinked, then shook his head. "You have a funny way of showing it," he retorted calmly, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. He sighed, watching the mist of his breath float in the cold air in front of his face. "Can't you find warmer places to carry on conversations like this." He raised an eyebrow, shivering for effect.

"You're a puss," House snorted. "It's why you haven't sealed the deal on that hot little number in legal. The blond with the big..."

Wilson held out a hand to stop him, and he gave his friend a small smirk. "How do you know I haven't," he grinned.

"Because Veronica's a devout christian, who's saving herself for marriage, and trust me, marriage to a Jew, even a non practicing Jew, isn't in the cards for her." Wilson's jaw dropped, and, as he was preparing to ask House how he knew, his friend kept going. "She prays before every meal, including eating the chips out of the vending machine. She wears one of those virginal promise rings that's so popular with teen pop acts these days on her ring finger on her left hand. She's told at _least_ thirteen people that she's quote – 'married to the lord' – unquote, when they've tried to ask her out. She's the only person I've seen in the chapel on a daily basis, and, she doesn't think I'm the devil, since I sit in there for hours with my head bowed -"

"Only because you're playing your DS," Wilson snorted, crestfallen.

"That's beside the point," House's face broke into a small grin. "Trudy in legal hasn't let her know about me yet because she's afraid the poor girl won't believe her." He lifted his cane up, and he pointed the rubber tipped in at Wilson. "Unfortunately, for you, Trudy has let her know about _your_ reputation," he said with a larger grin, enjoying watching his friend's face fall.

"You enjoyed that," Wilson pouted, glaring at his friend.

House shrugged. "It gets me through," he sighed, leaning heavily on his cane. "So, you wanna buy me a coffee?"

Wilson groaned, and he closed his eyes. "Sure," he acquiesced.

House grinned. "And that's why you're a puss." Wilson rolled his eyes, but they made their way back to the hospital; Wilson hoping he wouldn't have to explain what they were doing.

[H] [H] [H]

He heard the clicking of heels down the tile floor of the hall well before he smelled her soft jasmine perfume. He kept his eyes closed, but his mind was working feverishly on what to say. He didn't want to say a thing; he just wanted her to go away. He just wanted the world to go away, that way, he could wallow in his misery alone.

"You weren't in the Clinic today," her voice grated over him.

He snuffled, then cracked open one eye. She was wearing lavender today. Lavender and gray; it suited her well. Her hands were perched on slim hips, and her gray eyes were narrowed, glaring at him. Everything about her screamed professional calm. Her lavender blouse was pressed, her gray skirt was neat. Her shoes, which matched her skirt and jacket, were polished. Her make-up was applied perfectly, and her hair was neatly arranged in an artful waterfall of raven curls, everything bespoke reserved cool in the midst of a never ending storm.

Except the storm that he could see rage in the gray storm clouds of her eyes.

The storm he chose to ignore; whatever was bothering her, it surely wasn't his problem. "Had an urgent case," he grunted, squirming back in his chair, feigning going back to sleep. "Off grounds consult."

"What?" she rolled her eyes, "your bookie have a hot tip at the OTB?" she snorted.

He opened an eye. "It was a consult-"

"You're lying," she snapped at him.

"It's not your problem," he shot back. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

She shook her head. "You're right; it's not my problem."

He sat up. "Wait," he frowned, confused. "You're my boss. If I don't show up for work, it is your problem."

She gave him a wry look, then took a deep breath. "I'm going on a leave of absence," she told him directly, not dancing around it. "I have some vacation time saved up, and I'm just...going away for a while," she trailed off. "After what happened, I need some time, alone."

"You're running away?" he blinked. "You're running away. Like you always do."

"Like you did," she told him, her voice devoid of emotion. "Like you ran away from me." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I need some time to sort things out, and I can't do it around here." _Around you,_ she couldn't bring herself to say.

He opened his mouth to say something, to call her an idiot, or a moron. To do something stupid to stop her, but she turned on her heel, and was out the door before he had a chance, leaving him alone.

Like he had her.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Sandblasted**_

Lisa Cuddy's feelings ebbed and flowed like the afternoon tide a few short yards from her feet. The scenery that surrounded her was a complete one-eighty from the gray, snow covered, frozen landscape of New Jersey, where winter still kept the land in an iron-fisted grip. Here, the sun beat happily down on her body, which accepted the warm rays happily, while the turquoise waters of the ocean lapped at the pale gold sand of the beach. The only thing that ruined the paradise that surrounded her, was the incessant chirping of her cell-phone, coming from the bag that lay beside her head. Recognizing the ringtone, she groaned, and debated not answering at all, but, she knew that he wouldn't be deterred at her ignoring him. He would just keep calling until her cell phone's battery died, or she picked up. Groaning, she twisted on the blanket, sitting up, and she fished around in the oversized beach bag for her phone. Finding it buried in the bottom, she flipped it open. "What do you want, House?"

"Are you still running away?" he brusquely asked, causing her to roll her eyes.

"I'm hanging up now," she told him, pulling the phone away from her ear.

"Wait!" his voice bellowed from the speaker. "I need you to do something about Foreman!"

She sighed, closing her eyes. Even here a thousands miles away, in Puerto Rico, he could find new ways to annoy her. "Allen's dealing with this," she growled, flopping back down on the blanket, which suddenly felt coarse to her skin, much like the abrasive man on the phone, grating on her nerve endings.

"Allen's just going to let him walk out the door," House whined, causing her to grimace. This is why she took a leave of absence; to leave this all behind, and not have to deal with pain in the ass on the phone.

She took a deep breath. "_I_ talked to Foreman," she informed him, "and he seems to be set on leaving."

"Because he doesn't want to be like me!" House exploded. "Like that's so bad," he snorted.

"House," she could feel the familiar tension headache building behind her eyes. "You don't want to be you!"

"That's beside the point!" His voice rose, and she pulled the phone away from her ear. "He's not ready to leave!"

"You mean you're not ready to let him go!" she retorted, her own voice rising with his. She quickly sat up and glanced around the secluded beach through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, trying to see if there was anyone else that she could be disturbing with the conversation. Not seeing anyone else, she settled back down. "Sometimes the chick has to fly from the roost," she chided him, continuing on with their discussion. "Foreman wants to fly free from your control, and I say as long as he knows what's at stake, I'm fine with it. Allen already signed off on his two weeks notice, and given him his letter of recommendation."

"He's not ready," House sniffed, obviously chagrined that she didn't do more to stop his fellows leaving.

"House," she began, the burgeoning headache exacerbated by her grinding her teeth. She could snap the phone shut now – she should snap the phone shut – but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Despite the headache it caused, arguing with House was oddly...comforting. "I know you care about your fellows-"

"I don't care about them!" House retorted. "I really don't."

Cuddy smiled, visualizing the slight pout he must have on his face to complain that badly. She knew he actually cared, or he wouldn't be protesting so much. He just had to hide that side of him, for some odd reason. "Then, if you don't, just let him leave. You have three dozen resume's laying on your desk right now, for people practically begging to work under you. God knows why."

He huffed. "He's not ready; he just thinks he is."

"And the only way for him to find out is to test his wings." She sighed, getting up off the blanket to pace the beach, feeling agitated by the conversation. "Besides, you have two weeks to change his mind."

"When are you coming back?"

His sudden jump in conversation took her aback. "Three weeks, four weeks," she answered vaguely. "I had a years of vacation time backed up," she brushed her hair out of her face, but the ocean breeze just continued to ruffle it back in her eyes."

"Hmpf," was his response. "Foreman shouldn't leave."

She smiled. "House, their contracts are for three year fellowships. Chase and Cameron already renewed theirs; if Foreman wants to go..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. That doesn't mean he should leave." His voice finally sounded irritated. She could hear his breathing on the other end of the line, and she wondered what he was thinking of asking her. She had a few guess spring to her mind, and they were all ones she didn't want to hear. "You shouldn't have left, either. The hospital is falling apart without you." With that, the line went dead.

She pulled the cell phone away from her ear, and she looked at it for a long time, half expecting it to ring with him calling back to resume their discussion. Biting her lip, she walked back to her blanket, the afternoon sun beating down on her. She sat down, still clutching the phone, and she watched the tide ebb and flow, the white caps on the clear, turquoise waters.

She thought back on the past week. Her request for a leave of absence had been approved. When asked why, she had kept it vague, citing family stress. It was fairly common knowledge that her father had undergone cancer treatments over the past year, and that she had traveled back and forth from Princeton to her parent's home rather frequently for her, as well as running the hospital effectively, so, a few weeks of time off seemed perfectly appropriate. Her replacement was effective, and the only phone calls she received from him seemed to be on how to deal with House's crazy demands. She was happy that Geoffrey Allen had decided not to try his hand in keeping House in line. Not that she was happy that her vacation seemed to be constantly interrupted by House, but better that than him driving a good temporary replacement off simply because he couldn't deal with the change.

She wasn't happy that she had to continue her contact with House, since privately, he was the reason she felt the need to escape, but, she didn't have to deal with his overwhelming physical presence looming over her, distracting her from sorting out her own thoughts, which were still as confused and as muddled as before, like a cold, thick, swirling quicksand, threatening to pull her down. It's why, after several days of puttering around New York City with her parents, trying to put miles in between herself and the matters in Princeton, she had decided to splurge on some sun and sand. It was miles and seemingly worlds away from what she was running away from, with the constant blue skies, golden sands, and blue green ocean waters, alive and swirling with life. She had only been there a few days, but she could feel the tension in her body beginning to uncoil, like a serpent soaking up the sun's warmth on a warm rock.

She put the phone back in the bag, frowning slightly. He never said anything, but she had noticed how frail her once strong father had looked those few days in the City. Deep, dark circles marred the pale skin under his gray eyes, and his paper thin skin had become even more lined and wrinkled in such a short time. She could see the raised blue veins on his hands, which had once been so tight and strong, as well as dexterous. She remembered when, as a child, she had fallen off of her bike on the sidewalk in front of the house, and how, through her tears, he had calmly taken a pair of tweezers, and removed a few of the embedded pebbles in the abraded skin on her knees and elbows, all the while soothing her by reciting a passage from their favorite story, _Through The Looking Glass._ She had been thoroughly fascinated by the process, watching how fine and sure his hands were, making sure to get the gravel without causing her any undue pain. To see those hands now, bruised and wrinkled and frail – she felt her eyes fill up with tears.

Her father didn't travel anymore; it took an undue toll on his body and health. She had hoped that he and her mother would join her here, to Puerto Rico. The tropical atmosphere reminded her of the last trip they had taken with him, right before his cancer diagnosis, to Costa Rica. He would enjoy the bright tropical sun and the warm weather, the vibrant, green foliage, even in late February and the stunning, shimmering waters, so full of life. He would have enjoyed snorkling in the shallows, seeing all the vibrant life in the coral reefs, or scuba diving in the deeper waters of the bays with her; he always did. She planned on doing that tomorrow, hoping to see the great variety of life beneath the surface of the water.

She stood up, and she walked to the water, the light of the sun dancing off of the surface, causing it to shimmer with threaded gold. She allowed the warm water to lap at her feet, the gentle waves kissing her toes before they retreated back into the large sea, taking a bit of sand off the beach. She sat down, playing in the sand, doodling nonsensical pictures and words as the waves set about eroding her work before it was even complete. There was something therapeutic, she thought as she cupped out a handful of sand, allowing the salty water to fill the small hole, in playing in the dirt. Something freeing, she mused with mild wonder as a crab hobbled by.

Her phone didn't ring again for the rest of the afternoon. When the sun kissed the ocean's far west horizon, she stood up, brushing away the sand that was sticking to her legs. She gathered her things, and she walked back to her small hotel room, where she showered, wondering how the abrasive substance really managed to get everywhere. After a light dinner at a local cafe, she went back to her room, opening all the windows to let in the tropical night breeze, allowing the scent of jasmine and sand to waft through her room. She dressed for bed, and she slid in between the soft sheets, reaching for an old, tattered paperback book that rested on the nightstand. In the soft, glowing light from the table lamp, she read: _Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of __having nothing to do._

It was time to join Alice through that mystical looking glass, and, for a moment, forget about all of the weights that rested on her fragile shoulders.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Chapter Twenty-Six**_

_**Departures**_

Gregory House's dreams had been haunted for weeks, ever since that photographer with the Maternal Mirror Syndrome. It had been the last case he had taken before his vacation, and he had spent his free time wisely, mostly on his couch watching marathons of _The Deadliest Catch _and _Mythbusters_ on the Discovery channel, sprinkled in with episodes of _South Park _and _Family_ _Guy_ to spice things up a little. And of course, his ever present bottle of scotch and vial of pills on the coffee table ensured that he would spend his week in a drug induced stupor, just to make sure that he didn't dwell on the events of the past eight months.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the only thing his mind was tuned in to, even with the efforts to keep memories at bay, they still kept returning, except now, there was one more.

He could still feel the warmth of that tiny hand wrapped around his gloved finger, bloody and warm. The tiny fingers were perfectly formed, and its grip was strong, for something that was supposed to be still protected from the world by its mother's body. He felt a chill flow through his blood as he thought about how they almost lost it, and how it technically shouldn't be in the world. He had argued for termination, which was the rational and logical choice, though cold it might have been, and he still stood by that opinion, but secretly, he had been impressed by the way Cuddy had fought for the eight pound tumor that was killing its mother. He dealt with stark, cold decisions all the time, as did Cuddy, but this time, she had fought, even when all the signs pointed to the opposite conclusion.

It was why he loved her.

That thought felt like ice water poured down his spine, causing him to shudder. He didn't love her; he _couldn't _love her. He couldn't love anybody; he shouldn't love anyone. He had learned his lesson with Stacy; anyone loving him would just lead to pain. By shoving people away, he didn't have to see them hurt when he lashed out, or when he grew distant and obsessive about something that wasn't them. Besides, he would only say or do something to hurt them, and when he did, he could cut deep, as Cuddy well knew. It was a good thing she was running away; he would only push her even farther than he had already tried to.

Except, he couldn't get that image of the tiny hand holding on to his finger out of his mind. If their child had devolped enough to be delivered, would it had gripped his finger like that? It would be over eight months along, and Cuddy's belly would be hugely swollen with it's mass. Her whole body would be changing, all in preparation for that last month, and the delivery. Would it have been a boy or girl? It's genitalia would have been developed, letting them know if it was a girl or boy, along with most of its bones and organ systems. It would have been using Cuddy's bladder as a kicking bag, causing her to want to go to the bathroom every seven seconds. Knowing Cuddy, she would still be at work, if there had been no complications, but preparing for her coming maternity leave. Maybe her mother would have come down to help her prepare.

All of those thoughts played in his mind as he laid on his leather sofa, rubbing his fingers together, still feeling the warm pressure of the tiny fetus' hand. It was a surreal state of mind, and one he had never thought he would have had. He had never wanted children, never wanted to possibly put a child through what he had gone through. It was well enough to take himself out of the gene pool, and as much as he liked sex, he had always taken precautions against bringing another House bastard into the world; one was enough, and he had the scars, both physically and emotionally, to prove it.

Not that his mother hadn't prodded him into getting married, especially after it had seemed like he had settled down with Stacy, even though Stacy hadn't wanted kids, either. Or wanted to get married, or so he thought. Oh sure, she dropped hints now and then, but every time he tried to get a little more serious, she would suddenly back away. Looking back, he realized that the more he wanted her, the more she would step back, and he would do the same to her. They were always playing that game, and they never became serious.

Then, of course, there was his own obsessive nature, and the fact that once he had a patient, even as a resident, he would spend hours trying to figure it out, unless it was obvious. He was always chasing zebras, and the more exotic and unusual, the better. He would pour over medical journals and articles, pull out his reference books and research until sleep deprivation overtook him, ignoring everything else that was going on in his life, something Stacy had never been able to get over.

And now, he would do that to Cuddy. Oh, it wouldn't be intentional; it never was with Stacy, either, but it would happen. Even if he wanted a relationship with Cuddy, which he didn't

He sat up and shook his head, as if trying to remove the thoughts from his brain through force. He reached over to the coffee table and he poured a generous amount of scotch into the mostly empty glass that sat beside the thick glass bottle. He took a drink, relishing the smoky burn of the amber liquid, feeling it as it traveled all the way from his mouth to his stomach. He finished it off, then laid back down, folding his hands across his belly, staring at the ceiling in his apartment, his eyes tracing the small cracks as he tried to clear his mind of thoughts about Cuddy.

He failed, miserably.

He wondered where she was, now that her leave of absence had started. He had tried to check her date book, and her computer before she left, but he didn't find anything; not a trace, and he began to wonder if she knew at all. He chewed on his lip; that wasn't like Cuddy at all; every little detail of her vacation had to have been micro managed every step of the way. Cuddy never did anything on a whim.

He contained to ponder what she was doing, where she was going. She would probably spend some time with her parents, or maybe not. She would either go someplace metropolitan, or someplace warm. Miami was both, so maybe she wound up there. Or maybe she was in New York, or Boston, or even Chicago, even though their weather was lousier than Jersey. No, wait, she'd want to go somewhere that didn't remind her of Princeton, that didn't remind her of him...

Making a chuffing sound, he sat up, the air escaping from his lungs. He needed an escape; he needed to do something to take his mind off of everything that had happened. Cuddy had escaped, had run away, so why couldn't he, at least metaphorically. Reaching for his cell phone that was lying on the glass topped antique coffee table, he flipped it open, scrolling through his contacts to find a familiar number. He hit the send key, and, after a brief conversation, he sat back on the couch, waiting. He poured himself another generous glass of scotch, and he took another drink of the liquor, hoping it would calm his anxiety. He could feel his palms become sweaty, and he wiped them on the thighs of his jeans.

After what seemed like hours, a soft knock came from the door, and he hopped up, limping a little heavier than usual. He opened the door, and a pretty young girl – it wasn't fair to call her a woman, even though she was easily in her mid-twenties – stood in the door frame. "Hi," she greeted him with a smile. "I'm Daria." Her dark bangs fell haphazardly in her eyes, making her seem younger than she was. The rest of her long tresses were smoothed back and gathered in a long tail that fell between her shoulder blades. Her vibrant green eyes were the product of tinted contact lenses, but somehow they added to her surface beauty, contrasting nicely to her mocha colored skin.

He swallowed, "hi, Daria."

She peered around him. "So," she said, straightening her shoulders with fake confidence. "Can I come in?" Her full, burgundy tinted mouth curled up in what was supposed to be a seductive smile. He shuffled out of the way, liking this one; the last one the escort service asked too many questions and talked too much for his liking. Once she was inside his apartment, he closed the door behind her, grateful for a momentary distraction.

[H] [H] [H]

Foreman's resignation was more of boon than House had originally anticipated. Oh, he was upset about the situation. It wasn't even that he hated change, even though he did; he just didn't feel that Foreman was ready. The man was arrogant enough, and even intelligent enough, though House was loath to admit it. What galled him was the man was leaving because Foreman "didn't want to be like him." "What a load of bullshit," House had originally moaned to Wilson.

His best friend had just rolled his eyes and ate another bite of the bagel that was on his desk. "It's a valid reason," he had finally responded after he had thoughtfully and thoroughly chewed his food.

"You're just mad that I dosed you with amphetamines," House had growled, darting his hand out quickly to snatch what was left of the bagel. "Even though you were dosing me with anti-depressants."

"Which you needed," Wilson countered. "You were happy!"

"Hazy!"

Wilson stared at him in response. "Whatever you say," he finally sighed, his gaze lingering longingly on his pilfered bagel.

"So, what should I do about Foreman," House polished the toasted treat, licking his fingers clean of the cream cheese.

Wilson wrinkled his nose, mourning his lost meal. "Talk to him," he said, turning his eyes to the paperwork on his desk. "Tell him you don't want him to go."

"I don't care if he goes-"

"Then why are you in my office whining to me about it?" Wilson snorted, losing his patience.

House gaped at his friend for a moment, stunned by the outburst, then a sly thought crossed his mind. "Good point," he huffed, standing up abruptly. He limped out of the office, a sly smirk forming on his features.

Wilson watched his friend leave, then went about working on his charts. A few seconds later, he dropped his pen, and he rushed out of his office. He reached House's office, and he put his hands on his hips. "Don't do it," he gave House his sternest look.

"Do what?" House asked innocently, rummaging his his desk drawer.

"Whatever thought is going on in that rat maze of a brain of yours," Wilson informed him, narrowing his eyes, glaring at his friend.

They stared at each other for a few moments in a silent standoff, engaging in a battle of wills. The tension wasn't broken until Cameron came rushing into the room. She opened her mouth, then glanced at each of the men, her mouth still slightly agape. "What do you want?" House barked, causing her mind to go blank for a few seconds, more intrigued by what was going on between the two men. Finally, she regained her purpose. "We have a case," she told him, striding confidently over to his desk, thrusting the folder out to him.

He stared at the folder for a moment, then looked at her. "No, we don't." He leaned back in his chair, putting space between himself and the folder. "Tell that pompous Brit that I'm not taking the case."

"I'm not British," came a low voice from the office doorway. Tall and distinguished, Dr. Geoffrey Allen stepped in the room. "I'm Welsh, and trust me, you want to take that case." His gray-green eyes twinkled in the light, although the rest of his posture was reserved. "Unless Dr. Cuddy was wrong about you."

"British, Welsh, doesn't matter, you're from the same island," House snorted. "And, I don't have to do a damn thing you tell me to do."

Allen's thin lips turned up into a small smile. "I'm not going to fight you on this. I'm just here as a favor to Lisa."

"Good," House snorted. "You can get back to sitting on your ass and assigning parking tickets."

Allen's smile grew wider. "I'm not going to fight you on this," he repeated, "but the Board of Directors see things differently." House's eyes met his for a split second, then they shifted back to the file that was lying on his desk. "Apparently, Dr. Cisco thinks that you will take it, and all the publicity that will come with it, or you will lose your job." At House's glare, Allen held out his hands to the side. "I'm but the messenger." With that, he left office, leaving House to fume behind his desk.

Still seething, House opened the file, then turned to Cameron. "Gather the troops," he spat. "We've got a case."

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy was furious. "You _fired_ your entire team!" she shouted, disturbing some birds that had roosted in the palm outside her window.

"You know, you're voice causes more shrinkage the louder it gets," House obliviously blathered. "And I only fired one team member. Foreman quit, remember? Or is advanced age catching up with you?"

She decided to ignore that jab. "And Cameron?"

"Resigned." The answer was short.

"You have to have a team." She could feel the familiar tension headache building.

"Wilson has resumes for about forty candidates sitting on his desk," he told her, confidently. She felt her brows knitting together in a scowl at the smirk in his voice.

"Why aren't they on your desk?" she asked, trying to keep her voice down, when she really felt like screaming bloody murder at him.

"Because," he paused, "I don't need a team."

"That's it," she huffed. "I'm coming back." The phone still held securely between her shoulder and ear, she began to throw her things together. "You are not going to be allowed to screw your time away doing nothing for two weeks. You will hire a team, do you understand me?"

"Don't quit your vacation because of me," House purred, trying to sooth her. "After all, I'd be screwing around even if you're here. And no, that wasn't a euphemism."

"House," she warned.

"You know, all that sun and sand and warmth has done nothing to unfreeze your cold, cold heart, Ice Queen."

She froze, "How did you know where I am?"

He paused on the other end of the line. "I didn't; it was just a good guess," he admitted.

"House..." she drew out his name in a warning tone yet again, chagrined by his flippant responses.

"I'm serious," he protested. "It was just a guess. But, in case your wondering, Lewis wins the pool if your in the Keys. Schaffer if you're in the Bahamas."

"There's a pool over where I went for vacation?" She rubbed at her head.

"Yeah, but since I fired Chase, I suppose it's not worth anything, since he was in charge of it." She could hear scraping, and she figured he must be scratching at his beard.

"Hire him back then."

"Can't. What if he already found a job?"

"Then find out, and if he has, hire a new team." She grew even more frustrated with the conversation as she pulled out her suitcase. She checked her watch. "I'm gong to hang up, and change my flight. I should be back in New Jersey sometime tomorrow," she informed him. "I suggest you start looking at applications."

"But Mom!" he whined, but she hung up before he could protest anymore.

She took a deep breath, and she was organizing all the things she had to do in her mind when her phone started to chirp again. Without looking at the caller I.D., she answered it. "House, I don't want to deal with this anymore tonight."

"Lisa?" her mom's shaky voice came from the other end.

"Mom?" her eyes grew wide, and she immediately felt the room grow colder, and the lights seemed to dim. There was something in her mother's voice that caused her stomach to knot with tension. "What's wrong?"

Silence on the other end. Then, a deep breath. "Your father," her mother finally spoke, emotion making her voice wobble. "Your father's in the hospital."

Lisa felt her eyes grow wide. "What's wrong," she breathed.

"You need to come home, now." And with that, her mother broke down, and Lisa heard a clink as the phone hit a hard surface, her mother's sobs echoing in the background.


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N- Special thanks to Muna for betaing this for me. I was a more than little worried about this chapter, and she helped ease some of those fears. Also, thanks to google for the information on the sparse Yiddish words I use in this one. I'm but a poor Gentile, but I think I learned a little...enough to impress my family, I think :-)**_

_**

* * *

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_**Chapter Twenty-Seven**_

_**It's The End Of The World As We Know It**_

Her father's library seemed dark and cold, like his presence had left it, just like he had left the world.

She sat in the heavy chocolate leather chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring listlessly at the mantle of the cold, brick fireplace. Her dark hair hung in front of her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She had done far too much crying lately, she chastised herself bitterly, but it wasn't like she had good excuses to be doing so. She wrapped her arms around her knees, the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt swallowing her hands. The curtains were drawn, shrouding her from the world outside. She felt cold, lonely, and empty, feelings she was growing used to feeling.

She had booked the first flight from Puerto Rico she could, and she arrived at Newark at about eleven thirty that night. No one was waiting for her, even though her mother had told her that Julie would be waiting for her. She took that as a bad sign, and she flagged down a cab, instructing the cigar chomping driver to take her to the hospital where her father was at. In her haste to get to her family, she had forgotten how cold it still was in New Jersey, and she had packed her heavy coat in her luggage, which had been stored in the trunk of the cab. She sat, shivering in the back seat while the drive kept trying to make small talk with her. She hadn't heard half of what he said, instead she was trying to keep the anxiety that was threatening to overcome her in check.

He pulled in front of the hospital, and she climbed out, still towing her suitcase behind her. She had found her mother and sister in the waiting room, sitting next to each other. Her mother was resting her head on Julie's shoulder, and Julie was clasping her mother's hand. Her mother stirred when Lisa came jogging into the room. "You made it," she tried to smile, stirring from her seat.

Lisa nodded. "What happened?" she asked, taking a seat in front of her family. She clasped her hands between her knees, hunched over, ready to listen.

Her mother shook her head. "I don't know, really. He woke me up last night-"

"The other night," Julie interjected. "We've been here for over twenty-four hours now."

"That's right, thanks dear," her mother clenched Julie's hand tightly. She smiled wanly at Lisa, then she continued. "The other night, complaining of chest pains. He wanted me to call you, but, then he started having trouble breathing, so I called an ambulance instead."

"That was the best choice, Mom," Cuddy agreed. "There's not much I could have done so far away from him, not being able to do an examination."

Her mother nodded mechanically. "That's what I thought. Besides, you've not actually practiced medicine in years." The barb stung, and Lisa felt like she had been slapped, but she swallowed her emotions. "Once we got here, he started to...oh, honey, what did the doctor call it?" She implored Julie.

"They said he had a seizure. They took him into an exam room, and the next thing we knew, he was in ICU." Julie ran her fingers through her hair, then yawned.

"Oh, honey, Lisa's here now," her mother sat up a little straighter. "Why don't you go back home to Tom and the kids. They need you, you know."

"But you need me, too, Mom," Julie whined, pouting a little. "He's my dad, too," she shot Lisa a dirty look. "Not just hers."

"Nonsense dear, you've been here as long as I have; you should go home, get a little sleep. I'll call you immediately if something comes up." She stood up and gave her youngest daughter a hug. "Please?"

Julie bit her lip, still giving Lisa a dark look. "Fine. But make sure you call me." She picked up her jacket, and left them alone.

For a moment, they were both quiet. "I'm sorry, Mom-"

"You have nothing to apologize for," her mother gave her a small smile before allowing it to falter. "She's just so worried." Her mother clasped her hands together, and she pressed her knuckles against her mouth.

Lisa pulled her chair close to her mother, so that their knees were almost touching, and she clasped her mother's hands with her own. "We all are," she said. "I just wish," she sighed, feeling tears sting her eyes. "I just wish I had been here. I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Her mother looked at her, feeling the warmth of her daughters hands over hers. "Lisa," she said, unclasping her hands to stroke her daughter's hair softly. "What's important is that you're here, now."

She had been too late, though, and now, her father was never going to sit across from her again, listening to her as she railed against doctors who had inflated egos and even more inflated bank accounts. He wouldn't be there to give her advice after yet another failed relationship, or fight with her mother or sister. He'd never be there to quietly give her strength when she thought she couldn't ever go it alone, or when she had to make an excruciating painful decision, either personal or professional.

He wouldn't be there to see any grandchildren she might have given him, as slim as that chance was now.

The funeral had been held a few days ago, a cold and bitter day. Her father had opted for cremation rather than burial, and now his ashes sat in the simple silver urn on the mantle in his favorite room, ready for them to be scattered to the four winds at his favorite locations, but some of them would remain here, in his favorite place, sitting above his favorite chair. The Cuddy women had stood there stoically, all of them with tears glistening in their eyes as they said goodbye to their patriarch. Her mother had accepted all the condolences gracefully, and they had listened to stories of him that Lisa hadn't heard before. He had always been so graceful and steadfast and strong, it was hard to imagine him as a headstrong youth, full of "piss and vinegar", as one of his college friends had called him.

And now he was gone, with nothing but cold ashes remaining of him.

She shivered, pulling her knees tighter to herself. It was time for her to leave, to get on with her life, but she found herself momentarily paralyzed. She knew what the next move would be, getting in her car and heading down to Princeton, to take up her position again at the helm of her hospital. To give her approval on budgets and hiring, to work with insurance billings and to keep one big pain in her ass in line, but she almost couldn't see the point, anymore.

"Your father wouldn't want you to sit here and feel sorry for him," her mother's voice came floating across the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed themselves, and her blond hair looked ash gray in dim light. She sat next to her daughter, and she held her hands. "You have to get on with your life, eventually, and the sooner the better."

"Are...are you kicking me out?" she asked, startled with how hoarse and haggared her voice sounded.

Her mother squeezed her hands. "I'm telling you to get on with your life." She sighed. "Even though I still can't believe he's gone." Her own head dropped, and a tear escaped her eyes. "Sorry, I'm very _verklempt_," she let a dry laugh escape her throat.

"So, I should just, move on?" Cuddy asked, the words sounding cold to even her own ears.

"Yes, honey. You'll go back to Princeton, like your sister went back to Newark. You'll continue on, holding tight to your memories, and at unexpected times, you'll cry." She sighed. "It's how I felt about your grandfather, when he died."

"What about you," Lisa asked, brushing her tears away.

Her mother sighed. "It will be hard," she conceded. "I've got a wonderful circle of friends and lots of Manischewitz wine," she gave Lisa a weak smile. "And I have two wonderful daughters and three lovely grandchildren who I'm sure will keep me busy." She squeezed Lisa's hand. "I miss him, already," she said, allowing the tears to fall from her eyes. "I kept expecting him to walk in this room, whistling and jingling his keys." She brushed her tears away, shaking her head as if clearing her thoughts. "I want you to be happy, and you're not going to be happy haunting this place. You're place is in the hospital, doing whatever it is a Dean of Medicine does, and you need to go back there and do your job." Her mother squeezed her hands tightly. "Please?"

Lisa stared at her mother and blinked, trying to wrap her mind around what she was saying. "So, you want me to leave you alone, so I can be happy?"

Her mother sighed. "Yes!" She tried to smile. "I know, it's so soon, but the sooner you throw yourself into your work, they happier I know you'll be. It'll be a happy distraction," she said, sadly.

"You don't want me to go," Lisa said slowly.

Her mother shook her head. "I don't," she admitted. "But I don't you to be miserable, either." She reached out a hand and stroked her daughter's hair softly. "You deserve better than that."

Lisa pondered her words, having never really been that close to her mother. She bit her lip. "The Board of Directors _does_ want me to go back as soon as possible," she said slowly, sucking on her bottom lip.

"See! You're important, and you have a job to do," her mother smiled, but it never reached her eyes. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe you, Julie, and I can go shopping in Philly next weekend," Lisa mused, warming to the idea.

"That would be wonderful." Her mother gave her a hug. "Maybe we can get you an outfit that doesn't make you look like an Atlantic City hooker." Her mother broke off the hug, and she stood up. "Let's go to Mariucci's for dinner tonight."

Lisa gave her mother a tired smile. "That sounds great." She looked down at herself. "Let me shower and get ready."

The next morning, she packed her car. "Are you sure you don't need anything?" she asked her mother, still reluctant to leave."

"No!" her mother sighed, exasperated. "I'm fine. I never thought you were the clingy type, Lisa. Even when you were a little girl, you hated for me to hold your hand. And now you won't let go of my legs!"

Lisa was shocked at her mother's admission. "I'm sorry, I guess I-"

Her mother gave her a tight hug. "I know what you're doing, and what you meant by it, but, please, you're suffocating me." Her mother let loose of the embrace, and gripped Lisa's biceps. "Call me when you get to Princeton, and I'll call Julie about going shopping, okay. Even Camille commented on your ta-tas falling out of your top last night. Camille! The loosest woman in Paterson! The woman has been _schtupping_ her gardener for years! And right under her husband's nose, bless his heart!"

Lisa felt her cheeks heat at her mother's words. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving," she held up her hands. She gave her mother another quick hug. "I'll see you soon, okay. Give me a call if you need anything, alright?"

"Yes, dear," her mother rolled her eyes, stepping back. "I'll see you soon," she tapped the hood of the car as Lisa slid into the driver's seat. She started the car, and she pulled out of the driveway, looking up into the rear-view mirror to see her mother pulling her coat tight around her body, watching as Lisa left, pulling out of view.

As she turned out of the driveway, she realized, her mother had been right; she had been putting off the inevitable, and now it was time to restart her life again. She smiled when she realized that Princeton had been the place she really wanted to be. It was time to go home.


	28. Chapter 28

Time seemed to slow down. It took her nearly three hours to get to Princeton, thanks to a nasty pile-up on the freeway. At first, she had gnashed her teeth, and growled curses at the frozen lanes of traffic, but finally she sighed her resignation at her fate, and she sat back in her well upholstered Prius, turning on her stereo. She kept hitting the seek button, trying to find something other than talk radio. Christian talk, Conservative talk, Liberal talk, Sports talk, Weather talk, Traffic talk – it all gave her one hell of a headache. "Doesn't anyone play music, anymore?" she said out loud to her empty car, rolling her eyes. Finally, she dug into the bag in the back seat, finding her iPod. The opening strums of Bruce Springsteen's _Born to Run_ came over the speakers, allowing her to relax, waiting for traffic to move again.

She had never been happier to pull into her empty driveway. Her house looked empty and cold, after the warmth of the tropics, but it was her home, and it was familiar. With a smile, she put the car into park, and she shut off the ignition. She grabbed her purse, and she stepped outside the vehicle, taking in the familiar surroundings. She had twenty-nine missed calls on her phone in the past twenty-four hours, all from the same contact, the one she had labeled _Jerk _under the contact info. She didn't want to talk to him, and it wouldn't surprise her if he had her house staked out, especially when she had called the hospital yesterday that she was returning a week early. That information must have made the rounds on the hospital's well run and fed grapevine.

The FBI and CIA didn't have _anything_ on the doctors and nurses at her hospital.

She smiled at the thought, and she hauled her large suitcase out of her car. She wondered what the rumor mill said about her, and why she had left. She hadn't taken a vacation, in god, how many years? A real vacation, not just a week off work because the Board had demanded it, not that she had gotten much rest, with everything that had happened, but she had gotten to spend sometime on a beach, soaking up some sun. Maybe next year, she'd take some time off and go to Europe; she hadn't been there since college.

She unlocked the door, and she found her house dark and quiet. The smell of cleaning supplies wafted in the air; her cleaning service must have been there earlier. She hauled her suitcase into her bedroom, and she contemplated unpacking it right away. She had another smaller suitcase in the trunk of her car, and she rubbed the back of her neck, thinking that she should just bring it in.

"You know, you really need to learn to relax."

She jumped at the familiar voice, her heart temporarily lodging itself in her throat, before it settled back down in her chest at the realization of who it was. "And change my locks on a regular basis, too, apparently," she turned and glared, seeing the familiar tall, lanky figure leaning in the doorway. "Get out of my home."

He stared at her. "No," he stepped into her dark bedroom, stopping a few feet away from her, before leaning his cane on her vanity. "Not until..."

"Not until what, House? I call the police and have them haul you out in handcuffs for trespassing and breaking and entering?" Her frustration burned through her eyes, causing them to almost glow in the dim light.

He stared at her for a few moments; his stare intense. He licked his lips, and she felt her nipples tighten and her womb clench. She cursed herself for letting him have that effect on her. She thought she had learned her lesson that fall, but it seemed like she was destined to make the same mistake again.

It was in that moment that she realized that he was going to kiss her, a split second before he moved.

She was paralyzed from stopping him, becoming overwhelmed by his presence looming over her. His lips met hers, and it was like a wildfire of fear and loss and lust and frustration took a hold of her, igniting like gasoline in her blood. Their kisses were wet, deep and hard; there was nothing soft and gentle about them, and their teeth nipped each others lips in their haste.

She tugged on his the hem of his t-shirt, the fire of emotions and desire burning hot in her veins, and his lips broke away from hers for a split second, allowing her to remove the offending material before renewing his assault. His fingers deftly unbuttoned her sweater, revealing the soft, cotton camisole underneath it. His fingers brushed her ribcage through the material, his thumbs brushing her pert nipples, sending electric shocks strait to her sex, causing the familiar liquid heat to build between her thighs.

He walked her to her bed, still locked in his embrace. His hands drifted around her back, cupping her shoulder blades to steer her. Her arms wrapped around his bare shoulders tightly, inhaling as much of him as possible. She tasted bourbon and french fries on his tongue as it deftly massaged her own, as well as the taste that was essentially _him, _and it stoked the fire between her legs. She could feel the rub of his cock against her belly, erect through the fly of his jeans. She wanted nothing more than to rid him of those so that he could-

She squealed as he lowered her to the bed, grunting with effort. Both breathing heavily, he tore his lips away from hers, his breath hot against her mouth. He lifted his head, and he gazed into her eyes, his eyes glowing with lust and desire. He studied her, his fingers tracing her jaw and neck, lowering them down to her collarbone, lightly touching the hollow of her throat before dipping down into the exposed beginning of the valley between her breasts. "I want you," he finally said, hoarsely. "I want you naked and sweaty, and screaming beneath me." Her womb tightened, and she squirmed underneath the warm, heavy weight of his body. He swallowed, and she could see his brain working, trying to find the words he wanted to speak, so she lay beneath him, lightly caressing the bare skin of his back. "I want you to carry my kid, and to raise it, and I want to be there to see it."

Her heart stopped beating for a moment at those words. She stared up at him, and it was only then that she realized that his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and fresh, wet streaks marred his face. _House,_ she tried to say, but no words came out from her dry, tight throat.

It was then that her world crashed down around her, and all the trauma and emotions that she had been feeling for the past six months hit her at once. The sobs that she didn't realize she had been keeping at bay escaped from her throat, raw and angry. She balled her hands into fists, and she began to pound his chest. "You _asshole_," she cried. "You _asshole,_ she repeated, over and over again, striking his chest with her fists.

He wrapped his arms around her, and he rolled them both over, allowing her to continue to hit him and cry into his chest. He allowed the emotions to roll out of her, while holding her close to him. He stared at the ceiling, his blue eyes wide while her sobs subsided into hiccups, and he stroked her dark hair, feeling the silky texture of it through the callouses on his fingers . Finally, he felt her go limp, the emotional tempest finally ebbing into the rolling clouds that she usually cloaked her feelings in.

[H] [H] [H]

She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep, until she woke up, her face red and hot. Her throat was raw and dry, and she reluctantly lifted her head up from the soft pillow underneath her head, looking around. She was alone, but she was pretty sure she hadn't been alone earlier, if her memory was correct. She sat up, and she glanced around the bedroom, seeing no sign of him. She shook her head as she crawled out of bed, stretching a bit – maybe it had been a delusion thanks to her overstrung emotional state.

She went to the bathroom, and after using the facilities, she washed her face with cold water, the chill feeling good against her fever-hot cheeks. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since leaving her mother's house – she checked the clock on the wall – nearly nine hours ago.

Six hours; she had slept for six hours. She pressed her hands to the small of her back, stretching a bit by bending backwards a little bit while yawning. She splashed a little more water on her face, rubbing at her eyes, tempted to just crawl back in bed, then the smell hit her. She sniffed, frowning, then followed the strong, spicy scent into her kitchen, where House was sitting. Styrofoam take-out boxes were stacked on the table. "Good morning, sunshine," he said with a grin. "Sleep well?"

She peered out the curtains of her kitchen, gazing at the dark, night sky. "Why are you still here?" she asked, slowly, not wanting to look at him, still wondering if she was dreaming.

He spooned out some rice from one of the containers, then adding a thick, brownish red stew-like mixture over it from another container. She sniffed, the spicy heat wafting through the air – curry. Her mouth began to water at the smell. He sat down at her table, opening a can of Coke. "I meant what I said," he said, quietly, poking at his food with a plastic fork. "I figured that meant not abandoning you while you slept." He gave her a grin. "So I had Wilson do some grocery shopping for you. Your fridge and pantry were disappointingly empty."

She turned to face him. "You..." she shook her head. "And this?" She waved a hand at the table.

"There's a great Indian place that delivers." He shrugged. "Sounded good," he took a bite, smiling at the taste. "It's good, and not drugged, I swear."

She huffed a little, then sat down, opening another container, revealing a potato and lentil curry. She grabbed a plate House had taken from her cabinet and placed on the table, and she began to spoon food from the containers on it, trying to ignore House for the time being. She ate in silence, trying to avoid House's stare from across the table. "Wilson went on a date with one of the orderlies in the ER," he commented, shoveling food into his mouth.

"Don't." She heaved a heavy sigh. "Don't do this."

"Do what?" he looked up at her, his eyebrows lifted in question, though his face was a mask of innocence.

"_This._" She waved her fork vaguely at him. "Small talk." She took a bite. "It doesn't become you."

He gave her a weak smile. "I just want to try," he sighed, pushing himself away from the table. "You're right. This was a mistake." He stood up, and he reached for his coat, hanging off the back of the chair.

"No!" She was shocked at the volume of her own voice. She stood up, too, and walked over to him. "I...it's been a long day, in a series of long days." She took a deep breath. "I want you to stay," she said, in a quiet voice. He took a step towards her, and she swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. "I want you..." she whispered, not daring to look up at him.

He gently touched her cheek, letting his fingers fall to her chin. He put light pressure there, turning her face up towards his. Their eyes met for a split second, then he lowered his mouth to hers, tentatively pressing his lips to hers with feather light pressure. She found herself kissing him back, her hands reaching up to frame his face, the stubble of his cheek tickling her palms. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to her.

He broke off the kiss, their breathing heavy. He gave her a small grin. "Bedroom?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She raised a brow, and gave him a seductive smile; it felt right. "Bedroom," she answered. He reached for her hand, and tugged, leading her down the hallway.

[H] [H] [H]

(_six weeks later_)

She sat on the closed toilet seat, her stomach in knots. Things had been going so well. House was of course, House, but he was trying, and so was she, and she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, and so far, he hadn't screwed it up, even though they both knew it was only a matter of time.

She just hoped that this wasn't it.

She'd been feeling flu-like symptoms for the past week, and she hadn't been able to shake it. A nagging little voice in the back of her mind told her she had felt like this before, and she had found a pregnancy test underneath her sink. Now, it was just waiting for it -.

A knock on the door startled her. "I've gotta take a leak," came House's bellow. Her heart had started beating faster; she had thought he had been asleep.

"Use the other bathroom," she called back, raking her fingers through her hair. The timer read thirty more seconds.

"But I wanna use this one!" came his petulant whine. She almost smiled how she knew he was pouting, in his child-like way. "Besides," he called through the locked door, "I wanna see if it's positive."

Her heart rose to her throat. She stood up, and she unlocked the door. "How'd you know?"

He rolled his eyes. "You've been morning sick the past week." He shrugged, "I was waiting for you to figure it out." He gave her a small grin. "Who do you think bought you the pregnancy test?"

She opened her mouth to give him a snarky retort, but the egg timer dinged, causing both of their heads to snap around to look at the small piece of narrow white plastic on the sink. Her heart started beating faster, and her palms began to feel sweaty. House licked his lips, then swallowed, nervously. She took a few steps closer to the sink, not wanting to look away. She stared at it for a few long moments, before he demanded, "dammit, Cuddy, what the hell does it say!"

She turned to him, trying to keep her face impassive, then her features broke out into a wide smile. "House," she said, beaming at him. "I love you."

[End]

_So, this is the point where I thank everyone for reading, and tell you all I don't do sequels, right?_

_Well, thanks to all who read this. I really appreciate it, and I hope everyone who's been following it has enjoyed it. Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read it. I can only hope that you've all enjoyed it, and that it brought a bit of entertainment to your busy lives :-D_

_Now, about that sequel...Everyone Lies, you know ;-)..._

_so you might want to stay tuned...  
_


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